Havelok and Sir Orfeo

Citation preview

THE

GOLDEN

LEGEND

SERIES

DHavelok and Sir Orfeo RENDERED

INTO

BY ROBERT >

~

MODERN

ENGLISH

MONTAGU

>»

In this book two of the very best romances of the middle ages are rendered into modern English for readers, young and old, who are not students of Middle English but enjoy a tale of adventure and chivalry. Havelok the Dane tells how the young Prince of Denmark and the young Princess of England are cheated of their thrones by treachery, how the Prince worked in Grimsby and Lincoln as a fisherman’s boy and a scullion, and of the strange things which happened to them before they got their rights. It is not only a good story vigorously told, with plenty of fighting and feasting to carry it along, but a lively picture of England as our forefathers knew it more than six hundred years ago. Sir Orfeo is the Greek myth of Orpheus and Eurydice, transformed into a charming fairytale of knights and ladies and true love, which makes an ad-

mirable contrast with Havelok the Dane. For other titles in this series,. see back ofjacket =

OF TF FT OV VRCUCV CCU OreCOCrClU eT vrTvwve vr ev—T Cw

’ THE

GOLDEN

HAVELOK

LEGEND

AND

SIR

SERIES

ORFEO

Other Titles in the Golden Legend Series SIR GAWAIN

AND

THE GREEN

KNIGHT

KING ARTHUR

OF BRITAIN

SIR LANCELOT

(Brian KenneDy Cooke)

THE DAYS OF CHIVALRY THE HOLY

SEA-DOGS

GRAIL

(M. R. Ruiptey)

(Brian KenneDy Cooke)

(Joun Hamppen)

(Brian KENNEDY Cooke)

AND PILGRIM FATHERS

(JoHn Hamppen)

Frontispiece

By courtesy of the British Museum

A knight kneeling (From the Westminster Psalter, thirteenth century)

HAVELOK

and

Sire OREO

Translated into Modern English by ROBERT

EDMUND 16 NEW

WARD STREET,

MONTAGU

(PUBLISHERS) LTD LEICESTER, ENGLAND

First published 1954

MADE AND PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN BY EBENEZER BAYLIS AND SON, LIMITED, THE TRINITY PRESS, WORCESTER, AND LONDON AND BOUND BY ADAMS & HARRISON LTD. LONDON AND BIGGLESWADE

CONTENTS Introduction

Havelok the Dane

-

UNKNOWN

25

Sir Orfeo

- UNKNOWN

97

APPENDIX:

Orpheus and Eurydice

ALFRED

THE

GREAT

II$

ILLUSTRATIONS PLATE

I A knight kneeling

.

:

. _frontispiece

II Servants fetching wine and drawing water . : : : facing page 63 Ill

A battle scene; knights in armour.

IV

Abanguet

.

:

.

85

facing page 92

V_ Men fishing from a small boat facing page 92 VI_ The beginning of Sir Orfeo in the fourteenth-century Auchinleck MS. facing page 97 The illustration on the jacket and those in Plates I-V are reproduced from the following MSS. by permission of the Trustees of the British Museum: Royal MSS. 2a and 28; MS. Cotton. Nero C. iv and D. 1. Plate VI is reproduced, by permission of the

National Library of Scotland, from the fourteenthcentury Auchinleck MS.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

IN translating Havelok I have followed mainly, but not entirely, the edition byW.W. Skeat, revised by Kenneth Sisam

(Clarendon Press, Oxford, 1929), and for Sir

Orfeo I have relied entirely upon the text (based on the Auchinleck MS) in Fourteenth Century Verse and Prose, edited by Kenneth Sisam (Clarendon Press, Oxford, 1950 reprint). I am much indebted to the Press for permission to make use of these texts. I am indebted also,

in varying degrees, to the following:

The Ancient

English Romance of Havelok the Dane, edited for the Roxburgh

Club by [Sir] Frederick Madden,

Middle English Metrical Romances

1828;

[including Havelok

and Sir Orfeo], edited by W. H. French and C. B. Hale, New York, 1930; Early Middle English Texts [including

extracts from Havelok|, edited by Bruce Dickins and R. M. Wilson 1951; Le Lai d’Havelok and Gaimar’s Havelok Episode, edited by Alexander Bell, Manchester, 1925; English Literature, Medieval, by W. P. Ker, Oxford,

1912; The Beginnings of English Literature to Skelton, by W. L. Renwick and Harold Orton, 1939; Early Middle English Literature, by R. M. Wilson, 1939; A Characteri-

zation of the English Medieval Romances, by Dorothy Everett, in Essays and Studies by Members of the English Association, Vol XV, Oxford, 1929; Medieval Romance in

England, by Laura A Hibberd, 1924; Cassell’s Ency7

8

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

clopedia of Literature, edited by S. H. Steinberg, 1953;

Funk and Wagnall’s Standard Dictionary of Folklore, Mythology and Legend, edited by Maria Leach, New York, 1949; and Highways and Byways in Lincolnshire, by W. F. Rawnsley, 1914. 1954

R. M.

INTRODUCTION

I N

O one knows who first told the tale of Havelok

the Dane, or who first put on parchment the Lay in which it has been preserved for us. No one can be certain how much of it, if any, is history,

although most of it is obviously folk-tale. But there are tantalising indications that it is earlier than the Norman Conquest, and that for centuries it was widely known, at least in East Anglia. A thirteenth-century Yorkshire chronicler, Peter of Langtoft, said that Havelok was the son of the Danish leader Guthrum, whom Alfred the Great defeated in 878 at the Battle of Ethandune. Modern scholars have

tried to identify Havelok with a famous Viking, Olaf Sictrison, who was on the losing side at the Battle of Brunanburh in 937, or to connect him with other

Viking leaders or with Sweyn, King of Denmark, who made himself King of England after he had conquered it in 1013. The Great Seal of Grimsby, said to be at least as old as the reign of Edward I, who died in 1307, bears

the figures of “Gryem”’ the fisherman, “Haveloc” and “Goldeburgh”, with crowns above the heads of the last two.

As late as the sixteenth-century, or later, legends

of all three of them were current in Grimsby, Lincoln 9

IO

HAVELOK

and SIR ORFEO

and thereabouts. But there seems to be little more historical truth in the lay of Havelok than in Malory’s Morte d’Arthur, and in both it is the story that matters. The story of Havelok appears in many medieval French poems, the oldest known being L’Estoire des Engleis, written in the middle of the twelfth century by Geffrei Gaimar (who mentions a previous record of it, la verai estoire), but it is clearly “matter of England” not “matter of France”, and modern scholars deplored the loss of all English versions of it, until the early

nineteenth century. Then The Lay of Havelok the Dane was discovered in the Bodleian Library, Oxford, and this is still the only manuscript known, apart from a few scraps, bearing 48 lines from the poem in a late fourteenth-century handwriting, which were found in 1911 in Cambridge University Library. This Lay was most probably written down earlier than 1300, in the Lincolnshire dialect of English, which

contained many Norse words because Lincolnshire had been part of the Danelaw. The Bodleian manuscript, however, was written in the early fourteenth century, and between this and the original lay various copyings, made by English scribes who liked to remove Norse forms, often spoiling the rhymes, and by Anglo-Nor-

man scribes whose spelling of English was sometimes very defective, their native language being French. So there are many mistakes and obscurities in the Bodleian manuscript, and in addition a leaf containing 180 lines has been lost near the middle. (See page 59, below.)

HAVELOK

and SIR ORFEO

II

But it might be a great deal worse, and these thirty pages, neatly written in double columns with a large initial flourishing at the beginning of each paragraph,

have preserved for us quite intelligibly the oldest and one of the best of the English “romances” which have survived. These medieval romances are stories of adventure in which knights and ladies, sometimes bearing famous names, play the chief parts, and whether they are Britons, French, Saxons or ancient Greeks, they appear

in medieval dress and settings, like the Knights of the Round Table in Malory’s romances.

Battles, feasts,

miracles and marvels abound; the ideals of chivalry and of courtly love are strongly presented.t_ The earlier romances were written in verse, sometimes at great

length, and most of them show a strong French influence; the literature of medieval England was so much later in developing than that of France that for over three hundred years after the Norman Conquest the chief ambition of English poets, whether they wrote in English or French, was to write as well as the poets of France. Among the surviving romances, however, there are

several exceptions to this general rule, and Havelok is perhaps the most notable. The author of this vigorous narrative poem used rhyming couplets, it is true, and not the alliterative verse of Old English, but he was not 1 A masterly translation by M. R. Ridley of one of the very best of these romances, Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, is published in this series.

12

HAVELOK

and SIR ORFEO

looking south across the Channel to imitate the polished accents of the trouvéres and troubadours and present an idealized picture of “high life” as it was lived, or supposed to be lived, in the castles of Normandy and Aquitaine, the rose-gardens of Provence. His heroes take no religious vows to wear hair-shirts under their coats of mail, and to succour maidens in distress, nor

do they ride out as lonely knights-errant, seeking adventure for its own sake. They do not languish for love of their ladies, edifying the reader with long and subtle accounts of their sufferings; they merely get married and live happily ever after, in the most abrupt and simple folk-tale fashion. Havelok shows, in fact, no

trace of that acute sensibility and close preoccupation with romantic love which are so characteristic of most European literature, medieval and modern, that we take

them for granted. Our unknown poet looked back to the days of the Danish Conquest, and across the North Sea to the much more primitive life of Scandinavia. His voice speaks to us from a lost world, that pagan, barbaric north which was already being engulfed by the Christian and classical south. Everything in the poem is strong and simple. There are exaggerations in the epic manner; Havelok, singlehanded, must kill no less than sixty thieves, and outdo

everyone in feats of strength. But nothing is idealized. There is much realistic detail and the few gleams of poetry are unselfconscious, unsophisticated. There are no psychological subtleties at all. The characters are drawn in black and white. The heroes—“our side”—

HAVELOK

and SIR ORFEO

13

have all the virtues and no vices; the villains have no

virtues. After a proper ordeal by adversity the scullionprince marries the captive princess and becomes king, all his lowly friends are exalted to rank and wealth, and

his foes are barbarously killed. Cruelty to enemies is as natural as generosity to friends. The highest mark of manhood, and of kingship, is prowess as a warrior. The code of honour is that of saga, epic and the schoolboy gang. But more civilized qualities are creeping in. Havelok is kind to children, courteous to women; he is

chaste and modest, and has all the gentleness with which the proverbs like to credit the very strong.

It is clear from the lay that the poet wrote, not for aristocratic audiences in the Norman castles which dominated England, but for simpler gatherings of

thanes and churls whose daily speech was English with a strong flavouring of Norse. Everything is seen from the point of view of the lower classes. There are kings and nobles enough to satisfy the popular taste for them, but their life is dealt with very sketchily and, although Havelok is a king’s son who becomes a king, his virtues and achievements are never those of chivalry; he does

not distinguish himself in knightly exercises, but in putting the stone and laying about him with a wooden bar. The story becomes most detailed and vivid when it is dealing with lower-class life, with Grim selling his fish, with the market at Lincoln and Havelok’s life as a scullion. The virtues attributed to the rulers are those

which the ruled most appreciate. The poet dwells on these things because they come home to his listeners— 2

14

HAVELOK

and SIR ORFEO

and we must remember that he was singing for his supper, or reciting for it. There are signs in the Bodleian manuscript that an earlier copy contained only twenty lines to the page—a pocket edition for a wandering minstrel—and more obvious signs in the poem of attempts to whip up feeling. If he could not hold the attention and win the applause of a restless audience in tavern or market-place, or gathered around the leaping

fire in a smoke-filled hall, he might have to go on his way with neither supper nor bed, and if the way was long, the wind was cold, so much the worse for him.

He relied mainly on incident, with a good deal of eating and fighting, to keep the story moving, and it does in fact move quite briskly, although the couplets of four-beat lines may seem at first sight to be rather slow and clumsy: Thet other day kepte he ok Swithe yerne the erles kok,

Til that he say him on the brigge, And bi him mani fishes ligge. The erles mete hauede he bouht Of Cornwaile, and kalde oft. Bermen, bermen, hider swithe! Hauelok it herde, and was ful blithe — That he herde bermen calle; Alle he made hem dun falle

_ That in his gate yeden and stode Wel sixtene laddes gode. Als he lep the kok [un]til

HAVELOK

ard SIR ORFEO

15

He shof hem alle upon an hy]; Astirte til him with his rippe And bigan the fish to kippe.! Much of the poem is as easy to follow as this passage and trips along as jauntily, so that when it becomes obscure or lame one suspects a copyist’s errors or clumsy revision. All the metaphors and similes are homely and familiar, popular proverbs are quoted fairly often, and there are no exotic elements. The poet knew how to tell a story, at once heroic and homely, which would

hold his listeners’ attention, and it was part of his skill that he realized the difference between the written and the spoken word. I hope that I have not done him injustice in this translation, which is intended, of course,

only for those who cannot read Middle English. I have kept as close to the original as I can with such readers in view, leaving out nothing except verbal repetitions which would be wearisome, and trying to render the tone and feeling as well as the meaning, for The Lay of Havelok the Dane is not only a good story vigorously told, but a fascinating glimpse of England as our forefathers knew it more than six hundred years ago.

1 These lines (879-890) are reprinted exactly except that ‘th’ has been substituted for the obsolete letter thorn and a few minor corrections have been made. The translation is on page 46. The poet varies the couplet occasionally by using the same rhyme for a number of lines.

16

HAVELOK

and SIR ORFEO

II

The second poem translated in this book, Sir Orfeo,

resembles Havelok the Dane at several important points. It is one of the very best tales in verse which have come down to us from the Middle Ages, it was composed to be sung or recited by a minstrel who accompanied himself on his harp, and it is in rhyming couplets of

four-beat lines: And on a day he seize him biside Sexti leuedis on hors ride, Gentil and iolif as brid on ris,—

Nought o man amonges hem ther nis. And ich a faucoun on hond bere, And riden on haukin bi 0 riuere.

Of game thai founde wel gode haunt, Maulardes, hayroun, and cormeraunt; The foules of the water ariseth The faucouns hem wele deuiseth;

Ich faucoun his pray slough. That seize Orfeo, and lough.

“Parfay!’”’ quath he, “ther is fair game, Thider ichil, bi Godes name!

Ich was ywon swiche werk to se.” He aros, and thider gan te. -To a leuedi he was ycome Biheld, and hath wele vndernome,

HAVELOK

and SIR ORFEO

17

And seth bi al thing that it is, His owhen quen, Dam Heurodis.1 There the resemblance to Havelok ends. Sir Orfeo was composed in the south of England, or the south midlands, soon after 1300 A.D.

It survives in three

manuscripts, the early fourteenth-century Auchinleck MS, in the National Library of Scotland, which is

followed in this translation, the fifteenth-century Harleian MS 3810 in the British Museum (this at least is a “pocket edition”), and the fifteenth-century Ashmole MS 61, in the Bodleian Library, Oxford. It contains 602 lines, one fifth of the number in Havelok,

and it is based on a French tale which is now lost but is mentioned more than once in French poems which have survived. As the minstrel’s prologue makes plain, Sir Orfeo is a “Breton lay’”—a poem of the kind written in French in the twelfth century by “Marie de France”, who may have been the Mary who was Abbess of Salisbury from about 1181 to 1216. A dozen of her lays have come down to us. They are all short tales in verse, based on folktales, with a strong love interest which is often pathetic or tragic in feeling. A number of Middle English poems were written in imitation of this style and several have survived, the best of them being probably The Franklin’s Tale (in Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales) and. Sir Orfeo. 1 These lines (303-322) are also reprinted exactly except that ‘th’ has been substituted for the letter thorn and, more questionably ‘y’ ‘gh’ or ‘z’ for the other obsolete letter yogh, and a few minor corrections have been made. The translation is on pages 104-105.

18

HAVELOK

and SIR ORFEO

When we turn to this poem we are carried away into a world far different from that barbaric half-Danish England in which the young Havelok so robustly proved his worth. We are listening now to a wandering minstrel of a different kind, who looks not north and

east but south and west for his inspiration—to the cultured lands of the French and the Celts. All over the world, from Ireland to Japan and North America, there are folk-tales of a man who goes down into the underworld in search of his dead wife, and some

of them may have had independent origins.

The

French and the Celts, however, adopted the ancient

Greek myth of Orpheus and Eurydice, presumably from Latin authors, from Ovid’s Metamorphoses, Vergil’s Georgics, and Boethius’ Consolations, all of them widely

read in western Europe during the Middle Ages. Alfred the Great’s version of the tale as Boethius tells it, which

is given at the end of this book, keeps the essentials of the Greek myth unchanged. Orpheus lives in the Greek kingdom of Thrace, and his harping has such power that wild beasts, trees, rocks and rivers are moved by it.

His beloved wife Eurydice dies and descends to Hades, the bleak underworld of the dead which is ruled by Pluto and Persephone. When Orpheus follows his music releases even the damned from their. eternal torments, so long as he continues to play, and persuades Pluto to release Eurydice. But Pluto tells Orpheus that he must not look back as he goes. He does look back,

and Eurydice is lost to him. There have been very many renderings of the myth,

HAVELOK

and SIR ORFEO

19

and allusions to it, in European literature, while Gluck’s

Orfeo ed Euridice (1762) is only the best known of a number of operas based upon it. Recently the story has been admirably retold by Rex Warner in Gods and Men, and there is a very moving poetic rendering by Rainer Maria Rilke (in Selected Poems of Rilke, translated by J. B. Leishman, 1941). There will be many more. The tale which the unknown poet of Sir Orfeo took up from a French poem had already been completely transformed, except that the tormented dead of Pluto’s gloomy realm still appear, most incongruously, in the

Fairy King’s resplendent medieval castle. The tale had become more Celtic than Greek.1 The Celtic peoples who lived in Brittany, Cornwall, Wales, Ireland, and

parts of Scotland had culture and folk-lore as well as languages of their own. The “Breton lay” of Sir Orfeo may well have been strongly influenced by a famous Irish tale, Tochmarc Etain (The Wooing of Etain) which was written before 1100 and was a favourite with Irish minstrels. (Over eight hundred years later it was used by Fiona Macleod and Rutland Boughton in The Immortal Hour.) ‘This tale related how Etain, wife of Eochaid, High King of Ireland, was spirited away from the midst of her husband’s warriors by the Fairy King, Midir, and was rescued by Eochaid and his 1 By the time it reached the Shetland Islands, where the ancient ballad of King Orfeo was written down for the first time in the late nineteenth century, Orfeo had left his harp behind him and was

playing bag-pipes. See The Oxford Book of Ballads.

20

HAVELOK

and SIR ORFEO

warriors from the fairy hill. The land from which Orfeo rescues Heurodis is very like the pagan Otherworld of Celtic folk-lore, which was often inside a hill

and reached by a dangerous passage through a cave—like the Otherworld from which Sir Lancelot rescued Queen

Guinevere in Le Conte de la Charrette.

Heurodis does

not die, like Eurydice, but is carried away by magic,

like Etain; and falling asleep under a fairy tree was one of the ways in which mortals in Celtic folk-tales most frequently fell into the hands of the fairies. The fairy folk of Sir Orfeo, who have nothing whatever in common with to-day’s popular conception of tawdry little tinsel creatures, are the people of the Celtic Otherworld. “Never before,” says Heurodis, “have I seen such noble beings.” They are beautiful and terrible, like the fairy host who ride through the Border ballad of Tam Lin and the Sidhe of The Immortal Hour: How beautiful they are The lordly ones Who dwell in the hills,

In the hollow hills!

But their King is more merciful than Pluto, and the story of Orfeo ends very differently from that of Orpheus. The tragic myth has become an enchanting fairy tale. The unknown poet who composed Sir Orfeo wrote with conscious literary skill. His lay is short, compact and well constructed, with none of the meanderings

HAVELOK

and SIR ORFEO

21

and repetitions which mar so many tales of the Middle Ages, and none of the rough realism, or the appeals to popular feeling, of Havelok. He knew when he tuned his harp that he had listeners who would appreciate a tale of true love, phrased in the courtly convention of the time and touched with pathos and magical beauty. One hopes that they were sometimes as rapt as King Bagdemagus, in the French romance of Lancelot, whose harper sang the lay of Orpheus, “and it pleased the King so much to listen that no one dared to speak.” 1954.

R. M.

er

a

aint ae

~~)

HAVELOK

THE

DANE

Men say in Lincoln Castle lies yet a stone

That Havelok cast well farther than everyone, And yet the chapel stands where he wedded his wife,

Goldboro the King’s daughter,—that saying is yet rife; And of Grim, a fisher, men read yet in rhyme, That he builded Grimsby, Grim, at that same time. —ROBERT MANNYNG of Brunne

1338 A.D.

(Modernized)

HAVELOK

THE

DANE

Here begins the life of Havelok, one time King of England and Denmark. I | ==

to me,

all you good folk, wives,

maidens and men! Listen to me, and I will tell you the tale of Havelok.

He was a very good man. In every gathering he was the best, and in time of need he was the greatest

champion who ever bestrode a horse, but when he was little he went naked. Now you shall hear the story, but first fill me a

cup of your best ale. May Christ keep us all from hell and grant that we come to him at the last! Benedicamus domino!

Once there was a king who made good laws and saw that they were obeyed. Young and old loved him, earl and baron, dreng! and thane, knight, 1 free tenant.

25

26

HAVELOK

THE

farmer and peasant, widow,

DANE

maiden, priest and

clerk—everyone loved him for his good deeds. He loved God, Holy Church and truth with all his might; he loved all good men and gathered them around him, and he hated all wrong-doers. Traitors

and informers he brought down, and all the outlaws and thieves that he could find he hanged high on the gallows; neither wealth nor possessions could save them. In those days a man could carry [fifty pounds or more] in red gold on his back, in a black or white

bag, and no one would threaten him or lay a wicked hand upon him. Chapmen! could travel the length of England with their wares, buying and selling boldly anywhere they wished, in good towns, and anyone who wronged them was brought to poverty and ruin. Then England was at peace. A king who kept the country so secure as this deserved high praise indeed! Christ in Heaven was with him, and he was the flower of England. There was no lord, from _

here to Rome, who was bold enough to bring hunger or any other evil upon his country. When he pursued his foes they crept away into corners to hide, not daring to move, and bowed to his will. He 1 pedlars, travelling merchants.

HAVELOK

THE

DANE

27

loved the right above all things, and no one could bribe him, with silver or gold; he was so careful of

the good of his soul. He protected the fatherless, and whether it was a cleric or a knight who wronged them he saw that they had justice. Anyone who did wrong to a widow, even the most powerful knight, was soon arrested and put in chains, and anyone who brought shame or blame upon a maiden, against her will, had some of his

limbs cut off.

In time of need he was the best

knight that ever rode a horse, wielded a weapon or

led his people; he feared no man and was quick as fire to show his prowess as a warrior. He took his foe’s horse or clothes, or made him spread his hands and cry for mercy. He was open-handed, not niggardly; he would give wayfarers the finest roast meat and the most delicate dishes on his table, to win the favour of Christ, who bled for us on the

cross and guides and directs all men everywhere. This king was called Athelwold.t The only child he had to succeed him was a lovely daughter, too young yet to walk or speak properly, so that when dire sickness overtook him and he knew that death was near, he said: “Christ, what shall I do? Where 1 There was apparently no King of England of this name.

28

HAVELOK

THE

DANE

shall I find guidance? I know very well that I have my deserts, but what will happen to my daughter now? I fear for her, not for myself, and it is no

wonder, for she cannot speak yet, she cannot walk by herself. If she could ride with a thousand men beside her, if she were old enough to rule England, and look after herself, I should never be uneasy

again, even though I were dead!’’ And he gave a great shudder. Then he sent writs to every earl and baron from Roxburgh to Dover, bidding them come to their unhappy king who lay night and day in the utmost misery. He was in such pain that he could neither sleep nor eat nor get relief, and no one could cure

him; there was nothing for him but death. All those who received his writs came sorrowfully into his presence, they wrung their hands and wept

bitterly, and entreated Christ to cure him of his dreadful sickness. When they had all assembled before the king in the hallatWinchester! where he lay, he said to them, “You are always welcome!

Iam very grateful to you for coming to me now.” And when they had all taken their places and had greeted the king, they wept and mourned, but he 1 the capital of England.

HAVELOK

THE

DANE

29

quietened them and said, ““Tears are useless, for I am near death. But I wish you all to pray for my daughter, who will be your lady when I am gone. Who is to take care of her and of England until she comes of age and can govern for herself?”

They answered at once, by Christ and St. John, that Earl Godrich of Cornwall was a true and loyal man, wise in word and deed, feared and respected by all. “He is the best man to protect her, until she can become queen.”

The King was satisfied with this advice. He had a fair cloth brought in and on it were laid the Mass-book, the chalice and the paten, the sacra-

ment-cloth and all the things used in the service of the Mass, and then he made the Earl swear on these

to bring the child up properly, until she was twelve years old and able to speak up for herself. Then when she knew how to behave, and could think of marriage, and love anyone who pleased her, Godrich was to marry her to the tallest man alive, the best, the strongest and most handsome. There-

after he was to give all England into her charge. All this the King Book.

made

him

swear

upon

the

When the oath was taken the King gave the maiden into the Earl’s keeping, together with all 3

30

HAVELOK

THE

DANE

the land he had ever possessed in England, praying the Earl to use her well.

The King could do no more, but earnestly besought God’s mercy; he received the sacrament and was shriven many times; many times he had himself

sharply scourged,! so that blood ran from his tender flesh. He made his will very prudently and carried

it out at once in every particular. He did not keep enough to pay for a winding-sheet; everything was so well shared out that nothing was left. When he had been many times chastised, whipped and shriven, before his tongue fell silent for ever he cried out, “Into Thy hands” and called upon Jesus Christ, and then he died in the presence of all his

noblemen. There was great sobbing and sighing, wringing of hands and tearing of hair; rich and poor grieved sorely, ladies in the bower and lords in the hall. Then bells were rung, monks and priests sang Mass, and many psalters were read, that God Himself should take the King’s soul to heaven, into His Son’s presence, to dwell there evermore. Then the King was laid in the earth. The rich Earl forgot nothing, but soon took

possession of all England. 1 as penance for his sins.

He gave the castles to

HAVELOK

THE

DANE

31

knights whom he could trust, and made all the English swear loyalty to him. He gave to all men what seemed fitting, until the King’s daughter was twenty winters old and more. When he had taken this oath from earls and barons, from friends and foes alike, from knights, servants, bond and free, he appointed new judges to

journey through England from Dover to Roxburgh. He set sheriffs, beadles, greaves! and officers of the peace with long swords to guard wild woods and paths from evildoers, so that everything was under his control. No baron, knight or peasant dared defy him, he was so rich in men, weapons and

goods. In a short time all England feared him as the beast fears the goad. The King’s daughter, whose name was Goldboro,

thrived and grew up to be the fairest woman living, wise and full of virtues, and many a tear was shed for her. When Earl Godrich heard how wise, chaste and lovely this maiden was, the rightful heiress of the

whole kingdom, then he began to sigh and said, “Shall she be queen over me? Shall she possess all England, me and mine included?

A curse on him

1 sheriffs kept order in counties, greaves in towns, and beadles in church affairs.

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who lets her! Should I give England to a fool, a serving-maid, because she wants it?

A curse on

anyone who gives it to her while I live!

She has

become all too proud, because I have given her too much good food and fine clothing; ’ve brought

her up too softly. It shall not be as she plans. “Hope often plays tricks on the fool!’ I have a son, a fine boy, and all England shall be his. He shall be king,

he shall be master, or I'll lose my neck for it!”’ When he had planned this treason he thought no more of his oath; he let it go, he didn’t give a straw for it. But before food passed his lips, like a wicked traitor Judas, he had her fetched from Winchester to Dover, that stands by our seas, and kept her

there like a beggar in wretched clothes. He had the castle guarded so that none of her friends, who might avenge her misery, could come and speak with her. Now we will leave the tale of Goldboro, who

grieves continually as she lies in prison. May Jesus Christ, who brought Lazarus to life, free her with His own hands and grant that she may see that man hanged high on the gallows who brought her to sorrow when she had done no wrong! 1 the poet is fond of quoting proverbs.

II

[= us now go on with our story. It happened at that time that a rich and mighty king ruled in the land of Denmark.

His name

was

Birkabeyn! and he had many knights and servants: he was a handsome man and very brave, the best knight who ever led an army, rode a horse, or

handled a spear.

His wife had borne him three

children whom he loved dearly, a son and two daughters, all lovely children. Death, who will spare no man, rich or poor, king or emperor, took him when he most desired to enjoy life, but his

days were numbered; neither gold nor silver nor anything he could give would keep him alive. When he realized this he sent far and wide in haste for priests, both good canons and monks, to

direct and advise him, to give him the sacrament and shrive him while he still lived. As soon as his soul was prepared, and he had made his will and

given away all he owned, he gathered his knights 1 There was a King of Norway of this name (father of Olaf Sictrison: see page 9) who came to the throne in 1184. 33

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about him, for he wanted to know from them who

would protect his young children until they could speak for themselves, walk and ride with knights and soldiers beside them. He soon chose a rich man, his

friend Godard, whom he thought the truest under the moon, to look after them until his son could don a helmet and lead an army, with a stout spear in his hand, and be made King of Denmark. In perfect trust he laid his hands on Godard and said: “Here I confide to your care my three children, all

Denmark and all my possessions, until my son comes of age: but I wish you to swear by the altar, the Mass-gear, the bells that men ring and the Mass-

book from which the priest sings, that you will bring up my children well, in a way which will

please their kin, until my son is of age; then yield him his right, Denmark and all that goes with it, castles and towns, woods and fields.”’ Godard started up and swore all that the king bade him, and afterwards ‘he sat with the knights

who were there. They all wept sorely for the king, who died soon afterwards. May Jesus Christ, who makes the moon to shine in the dark night, protect

his soul from the pains of hell, and grant that it may dwell in heaven with God’s Son!

When Birkabeyn was laid in the grave, the Earl

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35

soon took the boy Havelok, heir to the kingdom, his sisters Swanborow and Elfred the fair, and imprisoned them in the castle, where none of their

kin could come to them. There they often wept bitterly with hunger and cold before they were three winters old. He did not give a straw for his oaths; he neither clothed nor fed them properly,

nor put them to sleep in rich beds. Godard was surely the worst traitor, in God’s sight, of all who were ever made from clay, except one, the wicked

Judas. May he be cursed to-day by all who can speak!—patriarch, pope, priest, monks and hermits all! And from the holy cross on which God Himself ran with blood, may Christ curse him! May he be cursed by north and south, by all men who can speak, by Christ who made the moon and sun!

When he had gained control over the whole country and people, and all had sworn an oath to him—tich and poor, willing and unwilling—that they would do his will and would not anger him, he made up his mind to do a very cruel and treacherous thing to the children. May the devil from hell take him soon! When the plan was made, he went to the tower

where they were imprisoned, weeping with hunger and cold. The boy, who was bold enough, came to

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meet him, knelt down and greeted him courteously. Godard said, ‘““What is wrong with you? Why

do you weep and howl?” “Because we are very hungry,” they said, “We have nothing to eat, and in this place we have neither knight nor page to give us drink or meat, even half as much as we could eat. We wish we had never been born. Is there no corn to make bread?

We are so hungry, we are nearly dead!” Godard listened to their complaint, but he did not care a straw for it. He took hold of the maidens

both together, as though he were playing with them, sickly and pale with hunger as they were. He cut both their throats, and afterwards cut them

to pieces. It was a terrible thing to see the children lying in their blood by the wall. Havelok stood aghast. Well might that innocent lad be afraid, for he saw at his heart a knife that was ready to rob him of his life. But the boy, small as he was, knelt before that Judas, and said, “My lord, have mercy! My lord, I offer you

homage! I will give all Denmark to you, if you let me live. Here I will swear on the Book that I will never bear against you, my lord, shield, spear, or

any weapon that may harm you. My lord, have mercy on me! To-day I will flee from Denmark and

HAVELOK never return.

THE DANE

37

I will swear that Birkabeyn never

begot me.” When the devil heard that, he was touched with

pity and he lowered the knife that was warm with the innocent children’s blood. It was a blessed miracle that he did not kill the boy, and held back

through pity. He was very sorry for Havelok, and he could not kill him with his own hands, the foul

fiend! but he thought as he stood, staring as though he were mad, “If I let the boy go, he may do me

great harm. I shall never be safe; he may watch for a chance to kill me; but if he dies and my children thrive, they may be lords of all Denmark after me. God knows, he shall die. I will have him thrown into the sea, and drowned with an anchor about his neck, so that he cannot float on the waves.”’

Thereupon he sent for a fisherman who would, he thought, do anything he wanted, and said to him, “Grim, you know you are my thrall; if you

will now do exactly as I bid you, to-morrow I will give you your freedom and make you rich—provided that you will take this boy to sea with you to-night, when you see it is moonlight, and throw him in. I will take the sin upon myself.”’ Grim took the child, and bound him fast with

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all the ropes he could find, which were of very strong cord. Then was Havelok in the greatest misery; he never knew such misery before.

May Jesus Christ,

who makes the lame to walk and the dumb to speak, revenge you, Havelok, on Godard!

When Grim had bound him fast he tied him up in an old cloth, gagged him with a filthy rag so that he could neither speak nor breathe, and put him into a foul black bag, then flung him on his back

and carried him home to his cottage.

There he

handed him over to Dame Leve and said, “Guard

this boy as you value my life. him at sea.

1am going to drown

We shall get our freedom for it, and

wealth in plenty. My lord has promised me.” When Dame Leve heard that, she started up and threw the boy down so hard that he cracked his head against a great stone that lay there. Then might Havelok say, “Woe is me that ever I was a king’s child!—Woe that neither griffin, eagle, lion nor wolf, she-wolf nor bear nor other dangerous beast carried off Godard!’’ So the child lay until midnight, when Grim told Leve to get a

light. “Do you care nothing for the oaths I have sworn to my lord? I will not be utterly lost. I will carry

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39

the boy down to the sea, as you know I must, and drown him. Get up quickly, go and blow the fire

and light a candle.” When she had picked up Grim’s clothes she set

about blowing the fire, and then she saw a shining light, as bright as day, around the boy. From his mouth there issued a ray like a sunbeam; the room

was as bright as though lit by wax candles. “Jesus Christ!’ cried Dame Leve, ““What is this light in our cottage? Get up, Grim, and see what it means. What light is this?” They both rushed to the boy, ungagged him and unbound him quickly, and rolled back his shirt.

They soon found a king’s birthmark, very bright and fine, on his right shoulder. “God knows!”’ cried Grim, “‘this is our heir, who

shall be lord of Denmark.

He shall be king, stout

and strong; he shall have all Denmark and England in his power; he will make Godard suffer, hang him or flay him or bury him alive; he will have no mercy on him!”

Thus said Grim and wept bitterly. Then he fell at Havelok’s feet and cried, ‘“‘My lord, have mercy on me, and on Leve who stands by me. My lord, we are both your thralls and slaves. My lord, we will feed you well until you can ride a horse, and

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can bear helm, shield and spear. That foul traitor Godard shall never know of it. No one but you, my lord, shall make me free. I will care for you and

keep watch over you.” Then Havelok was glad. He sat up and asked for food, and said, “I am nearly dead with hunger and with the ropes you tied round my hands, and the gag which was thrust so fast into my mouth that it nearly choked me.”

“T rejoice that you can eat, God knows!’’ said Leve, “‘I will fetch you bread and cheese, butter and milk, pasties! and flauns.? We will feed you well, my lord, in your great need. It is true, as men say, “Where God will help, nothing can do harm.’ ”’

As soon as she brought the food, Havelok began to eat heartily and was happy. He could not hide his hunger. He ate a loaf, I guess, and more, for he was famished—he had eaten no food for three days. When he was satisfied, Grim made him a fine bed, undressed. him and put him into it, saying, “Sleep,

my son, very happily! nothing.

Sleep soundly and fear

You have been brought from misery to

happiness.” 1 meat pies. 2 cakes containing custard or cheese.

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4I

As soon as it was daylight, Grim went to the wicked traitor Godard, the steward of Denmark, and said,

“Lord, I have done what you bade me. The boy is drowned in the sea with a good anchor round his neck.

He is certainly dead; he will eat bread no

more. Now give me my freedom and the rich rewards you promised me.” Godard stood and looked grimly and searchingly at him, and said, “Do you expect to be made an earl? Go home at once, you foul, dirty fellow!

Go and be the thrall and slave you have always been! You shall have no other reward. It would not take much for me to send you to the gallows, God help me! You have done a wicked deed. You may stand here too long unless you go at once!” Grim could not escape quickly enough from that wicked traitor.

He thought, “What shall I do?

If he finds out that the boy is alive, he will hang us both on the gallows. It is better for us to flee the land, to save all our lives.”’

Grim soon sold all his corn, his woolly sheep and horned cattle, his horse, swine and bearded goats,

the geese and the hens from his yard; he sold everything of any value that he possibly could, and he turned it all into money. He prepared his ship well,

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tarred it and stopped its seams with pitch, so that

neither shoal nor creek would endanger it. He fitted it with an excellent mast, strong cables, good oars and a fine sail—not a nail was missing. When it

was ready, he went on board with the young Havelok, and his wife, his three sons and his two

fair daughters, and rowed out to the open sea where he might best escape. He was but a mile from land when the wind called Bise came out of the north,

and drove them to England, which Havelok was to rule, but not before he had suffered great shame

and sorrow and grief.

Yet he got all England

in the end, as you shall hear if you will listen long

enough.

Il

RIM came to land in the Humber, in the

(GS

of Lindsay.

His ship grounded on

the sand but he hauled it to the shore, and there he made a little shelter for himself and his

family. Then he began to build a small cottage of earth, so that they were well housed, and because Grim owned that place, it was named after him.

Everyone calls it Grimsby, and so it shall always be called from now till Doomsday. Grim was a good fisherman, and a good sailor.

He caught many fine fish, with nets and hooks— sturgeon,

whale,

turbot,

salmon,

seal and

eel.

He often did well; he caught cod and porpoise, herring, mackerel, flat-fish, plaice and skate. He made good baskets, one for himself and three others

for his sons, to carry fish in so that they could sell it on land.

He went to town and village to sell his wares; he never came home empty-handed, but brought

bread and something to eat with it in his tunic or cloak, beans and corn in his bag. He never wasted

his labour. And when he caught a great lamprey, 43

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he went straight to the good town of Lincoln. ‘ Often he walked all over the town, until he had

sold all his fish at a good price and counted his takings. When he came home they were happy, for he often brought wastel-bread! and horn-shaped simnel cakes and his bags were full of meal and corn,

beef, mutton

and pork, besides hemp

to

make good lines and strong ropes for the nets which he often set in the sea. So Grim prospered. He fed himself and his household well for twelve winters and more. Havelok knew that Grim worked hard for his food while he stayed at home, and he thought, “T

am not a boy now, I can easily eat more than Grim can earn. I eat more than Grim and his five children! This must not go on, God knows! I will

go with them and learn to work for my keep. There is nothing to be ashamed of in working; the man who wants to eat and drink well ought to work hard; it is shameful to stay at home. May God reward him who has fed me until now! I will gladly carry a basket, which will do me no harm if it is as heavy as an ox. To-morrow I will go out.” 1 bread made of fine flour.

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45

Next day he got up at dawn, and threw a basket on his back, after he had filled it with fish; he put

four basketfuls into one. He did well with it and - brought home every silver piece that he got; he didn’t keep a farthing.t So he went out every day, and learned his trade. Then there was a great dearth of corn and bread,

so that Grim could find no way of feeding his household. He was very anxious about Havelok, who could eat far more than he got, but neither

ling nor skate nor any other good fish was to be caught. Grim thought nothing of his children, but cared only for Havelok. He said, ““Havelok, dear son, I think that we must die of hunger, this famine is so bad, and our food has run

out. It would be better for you to go away than to stay here. You might go too late. You know the road to Lincoln well, for you have travelled it

often. (As for me, I am not worth a sloe.) You will find there many a good man from whom you could earn a living. But woe is me! You are almost naked. I will make you a garment from my sail, so that you can wear it, son, and not take cold.” 1 probably a quarter of a silver coin which had been cut into four pieces. 4

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He took the shears from the hook, and made a

cloak from the sail, which Havelok put on.

He

had neither hose nor shoes, nor any other garment; he went to Lincoln barefoot. When he arrived there he was bewildered, and for two days he went without food, for he could get no work to do, but

on the third day he heard the Earl’s cook shouting, “Porters, porters, come here!’’

A crowd of poor

men sprang forward like sparks from a fire, but Havelok knocked down nine or ten of them into the mud, and left them to lie there. All the food

which the cook had bought at the bridge! Havelok carried up to the castle,? and he got a farthing wastel-loaf for himself.

Next day he watched eagerly for the cook, until he saw him on the bridge, with a heap of fish which he had bought for the Earl of Cornwall, shouting,

“Porters, porters, come quickly!’ Havelok was delighted. He laid out everyone who got in his way, sixteen good lads and more, he knocked them all down in a heap, and bounded up to the cook

with his basket and began to pick up the fish. He ? A famous bridge, with houses and a chapel built on it. The

bridge which still exists dates from the twelfth century. Lincoln Castle is about half a mile from the river, up a

steep hill.

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47

carried up a whole cartload of cuttle-fish, salmon, broad plaice, great lampreys and eels; he never

spared himself until he reached the castle. When they had helped him to put down the load from his head, the cook smiled at him and thought him a stalwart man enough. He said, “Will you serve

me? I will feed you gladly, for you will earn your keep.” “God knows!”’ said Havelok, “I will ask for no other payment.

If you give me enough to eat, I

will fetch fuel and water, blow the fire and make it burn well. I can break and split sticks, and kindle a

fire so that it burns brightly.

I am very good at

cutting firewood and I can skin an eel, wash dishes, and do all you want.”

The cook answered, “I want nothing more. Go and sit over there, and I will give you the finest bread, and make broth for you in the pot. Sit down now and eat all you want, and a curse on anyone

who begrudges you your food!” Havelok sat quiet until he had eaten his fill, which he had well earned. When he had had enough, he went to the well to draw water, and filled a great tub there; he asked nobody to help him, but carried it in all by himself to the kitchen. He asked no one to fetch water for him or to

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bring the food from the bridge.

He carried peat

and sedge,! and brought wood from the bridge;

everything he used he drew and cut himself. He took no more rest than an animal. He was the meekest of men and always cheerful; he kept his sorrows to himself. No boy who wanted a game was too little for him to frolic with, he would do anything for the children who came in his way,

and he played with them to their hearts’ content. Everyone loved him, the shy and the bold, knights, children, young and old, high and low. Far and wide people talked about him, how big and strong he was, and what a fine man God had made him, except that he was almost naked; for he had nothing to wear but a rough, dirty cloak which wasn’t worth a faggot. The cook took pity on him and brought him some clothes and shoes, all brand new, and when

he had put them on he looked the finest man ever born of woman; no king ever looked so kingly as

he did then, and when the people had gathered at Lincoln for the games, and all the Earl’s men were there, Havelok was head and shoulders taller than

any of them.

He soon threw anyone he took in

1 used to kindle fires.

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49

his arms, for he was as sturdy and strong as he was tall; no one in England could match him in strength. Yet he was as gentle as he was strong. Even those who wronged him, he would never insult or handle roughly. He was a virgin, for he would no more lie with a woman, in a love-game or in the fields, than he would lie with a witch. At that time Earl Godrich, who ruled all England,

summoned many earls and barons and all the men of England to a parliament at Lincoln.) With them came many a champion too, many a brave

serving-man, all the lesser folk. Nine or ten young men began to play games, and then they all gathered —champions,

stout lads, husbandmen

with their

goads as they came from the plough; there was not a horse-boy, no matter what work he had to do, who did not come to watch the sport. The stout lads, with a tree-trunk at their feet,? put a huge

stone which was as heavy as an ox.

Only a very

stalwart man could lift it as high as his knees; there

was not a clerk or priest who could lift it to his breast, and anyone who could put it an inch or so 1 Parliament met at Lincoln onwards, and in other places. 2 To make them toe the line.

several times

from,

1213

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farther than another, young or old, was hailed as a champion. As they watched and made a great clamour about the best throw of all, Havelok stood

and looked on. He knew nothing about putting, for he had never seen the games before, but his master

bade him go and do his best. He was very much afraid, but he laid hold of the stone at once and threw it, the first time more than twelve feet

farther than anyone else. The champions who saw the throw nudged each other and laughed; they would not put the stone again, but said, ““We have been here too long!” This wonderful feat could not be kept secret. Very soon everyone knew how Havelok had cast the stone farther than any of the 'serving-men, how handsome, tall, brave and strong he was, and how modest. All over England, in the castle, up

in the hall, the knights spoke of it, so that Godrich heard it too, and he thought, “By making use of this man I can get all England for myself and for my son after me, which is what I want. King Athelwold made me swear on all the Mass-gear that I would give his daughter to the tallest man alive, the best and strongest and most handsome;

he made me swear it on the Book.

Where could

I find a man as tall and skilful as Havelok, even if I

HAVELOK

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$1

searched as far as India? Havelok is the man for Goldboro.”’ This was a treacherous plan, for he believed that Havelok was a churl’s son, and he did not intend

to give a single furrow of England as dowry for Goldboro, although it was all hers and she was a

good and lovely woman.

In this way, he believed,

he would get all England for himself. He was worse than Satan, whom Christ shut up in hell. _ May he be hanged on a hook! He sent at once for Goldboro, that fair and

gracious lady, and had her brought to Lincoln. He set the bells ringing and made much of her, but he was a traitor all the same. He said that he would give her the finest man alive, but she answered that,

by Jesus Christ and Saint John, no man should wed her and bring her to bed unless he were a king or a king’s heir, however handsome he might be. When she took this oath Godrich was angry indeed. “Will you make yourself queen over me?” he cried. “You shall marry not a king but a churl. You shall marry my cook’s boy, and a curse on him

who gives you any other husband while I live! You shall be wedded and bedded to-morrow, say what you like!’ Goldboro wept, for she was so miserable that she

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wanted to die; but next morning, as soon as the sun had risen and the matins-bell had rung, that Judas, who was worse than Satan, sent for Havelok and said to him,

“Master, do you want a wife?” “Not on my life!” answered Havelok. “What should I do with a wife? I could not feed or clothe her. And where could I take her? I have absolutely nothing: neither house nor cottage, neither stick nor twig, neither bread nor anything to eat with it, no clothing except for an old white cloak. These clothes that I am wearing are the cook’s, and I am his servant.” Godrich sprang up and struck him with all his strength. “If you don’t take the woman I give you I will hang you, I will put out your eye!”’ Havelok was afraid, for he was all alone, so he

agreed to everything.

Then Godrich sent for

Goldboro, the fairest woman

under the sun, and

said to her—the foul traitor! “If you refuse to marry this man I will drive you out of the country or burn you alive!”’ She was so terrified that she dared not refuse, and although she hated it she thought that it must be God’s will, who makes the corn grow and made her to be born a woman. So Godrich forced them

HAVELOK

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$3

to marry. A great many pennies (which he made Goldboro take) were laid upon the Book, and the Wedding Mass was said by a good priest, the Archbishop of York, who had come to the parliament

as if sent by God.

IV

HEN they had been truly wedded, by \\ God’s law and in sight of the people, they did not want to stay long, for they saw very well that Godrich hated them, the devil take him! And Havelok was very much afraid that if they remained some shame would be put upon his wife—and he would rather die first—or that some evil would be done to them. So he made up his mind that they must flee to Grim and his three sons, where they might get food and clothing, and they set out as fast as they could for Grimsby. There they found that Grim was dead, but his five children greeted them joyfully and loyally. They knelt down, and said, “Welcome, dear lord!

And welcome to your

fair wife! Blessed be the hour in which you were wedded! We rejoice to see you alive, and you may sell us as bondmen if only you will stay here. We have many good things: horses, cattle and a ship on the sea, gold and silver and many other things which our father Grim left us, and he bade us give you

rich gifts. Stay with us, and they shall all be yours! 54

HAVELOK THE DANE

55

We will serve you and your lady, and our sisters shall do all she commands. They shall wash and wring her clothes, bring water for her hands, and

bring you both to bed, for we wish to have her for our lady!” When they had given them this joyful greeting, they broke sticks and split them, and made the

fire blaze up.

Neither goose nor hen, duck nor

drake was spared, there was food in plenty, with no

good dish lacking. Wine and ale were brought in, and they made merry, Havelok and Goldboro leading the wassail! many a time. That night Goldboro lay awake full of sorrow, for she thought she had been betrayed and married below her rank. Then she saw a light in the room, a wonderful light as bright as a blazing fire. She looked about, and found that it shone from the

mouth of the man who lay in bed beside her. No wonder that she was afraid! ““What can this mean?” she thought. ““He will be a nobleman! He will be a nobleman before he dies!’’ Then she saw a 1 Old English wes hdl, “Be thou whole!”’—“Good health!”” Havelok and Goldboro drank first from the wassail cup (probably containing hot spiced wine) and it was then passed round the company.

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splendid cross of red gold on his shoulder, and the

voice of an angel spoke to her: ““Goldboro, do not be sad, for this Havelok who has married you is a king’s son and heir. This cross proves it, and it means that he will become

King of Denmark and of all England. You shall see this happen and you shall be his queen!”’ When she heard that voice from heaven she was

so overjoyed that she could not conceal it. She kissed Havelok, who was asleep and had heard

nothing of what the angel said, and he awoke and cried, “Sweetheart, are you asleep? I have just had a wonderful dream. Let me tell you about it.

I dreamed I was in Denmark, on one of the highest hills that I ever saw. It was so high that I thought I could see the whole world, and as I sat there I took hold of Denmark, its towns and its strong castles,

until my arms grew so long that I embraced the

whole country, and when I tried to free my arms

everything living in Denmark clung to them, all

the strong castles fell on their knees and their keys fell at my feet. Then I had another dream, that I flew over the salt sea to England, and all the people of Denmark, except the bondmen and their wives,

went with me. Then I took up the whole of Eng-

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57

land in my hand and gave it to you, Goldboro. In the name of God, my love, what can this mean?” “May Jesus Christ, who made the moon, turn

all your dreams to joy,”’ said Goldboro. “No king or emperor shall be as strong as you, for you shall wear the crown in England yet, Denmark shall kneel at your feet, and all its castles shall be truly yours. I know as well as if I could see it that all the people of Denmark, father and son, earl and baron, dreng and thane, knights, townsfolk and peasants,

shall hail you as king. Every yard of Denmark shall be yours, and within a year you shall be king of it. Do not doubt this, but do as I wish, at once.

Let us both go to Denmark without delay. ‘Speed and success go together.’ I shall never be happy till I see Denmark, because I know it is to be yours.

Ask all three of Grim’s sons to go with you. I know they won’t refuse, for they love you well, and you

know how active they are wherever they go. Ask them to get their ship ready quickly and don’t delay. ‘Delay has often done harm.’ ”’ After listening to her advice Havelok dressed himself, as soon as it was day, and before he did

anything else he went to the church and fell on his knees before the Rood, calling on Christ and the Cross.

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“Lord,” he prayed, “Thou that rulest all things, wind and water, woods and fields, by Thy holy

mercy have pity on me now, O Lord! Avenge me

on my foe, who slew my sisters with a knife before my very eyes and who would have robbed me of my life, for he bade Grim drown me in the sea.

He holds my land most wickedly, for I never did him any harm and he has brought me to misery; he has made me beg my food and live in sorrow and pain. Lord, have mercy upon me and let me cross

the sea in safety, although I am so anxious and afraid. Keep me from storms and from drowning, and from destruction for any sin. Bring me safely to the land which Godard rules, which is all of it mine by right,—Jesus Christ, thou knowest that

well.” When he had said this prayer and laid his offering on the altar he took his leave of Christ and His sweet mother, and of the Cross before which he

lay, and then went weeping on his way. Grim’s sons were getting ready to go fishing, so that Havelok could have a good meal, but he called the eldest brother, Red Robert, then William Wendut and Hugh Raven, all Grim’s three sons, and said, “Now listen to me, lordings, and I will remind

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you of something about myself which you know already. My father was King of Denmark—all Denmark was in his hand then he was given evil entrust me and my sisters care of a villain, a limb of

on the day he died, but counsel, that he should and his kingdom to the the devil. I saw that foul

fiend kill my sisters with his own hands.

He slit

their throats and cut them to pieces. Then he bade Grim, your father, drown me in the sea, he made your father swear solemnly on the Book to do it and said he would take the sin upon himself. But Grim was wise and clever. He would not damn his soul, he chose instead to break his oath and to save me by fleeing from Denmark. If 1 had been found there he would have been slain, or bound fast and hanged high on a tree; no bribe could have saved him. So he fled here from.Denmark, and looked after me so well that to this very day I have always been fed and cared for. But now that I have come

to an age when I can wield a weapon and give great blows with it I shall never rejoice until I see Denmark. I beg you to come with me, and I will make you rich men. Each of you shall have ten castles, with all their lands, boroughs, towns, woods and

fields.”’

[At this point a leaf containing 180 lines has been

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cut out of the manuscript.

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Evidently it describes

how Havelok and Goldboro, with Grim’s three sons, sailed to Denmark and arrived at the castle of a Danish Earl named Ubbe, who was a friend of Havelok’s father, King Birkabeyn. Havelok begged

his permission to live nearby and make a living by trading.|

V

| BEG your leave,” [said Havelok to Earl Ubbe, “‘to trade in] such goods as I shall buy. I will ask permission of no magistrate but you. I want to travel from town to town, selling my wares. He took out a gold ring, the stone in which was

worth a hundred pounds, and gave it to Ubbe. “He was wise who first gave a bribe,’ and Have-

lok was very wise; no merchant ever got such a high price for a ring, as you will hear if you listen to my story. Once Ubbe had that gold ring he would not have parted with it for anything. He looked closely at Havelok, seeing how well-built he was, broad-

shouldered, deep-chested and tall: he looked a very powerful man. “God!” said Ubbe, “why is he not a knight? He is a man of courage, I swear! He should be wearing helmet, shield and spear, not buying and

selling. It is a shame that he should have to. God knows, if he would trust me he would give up trade.”’

Nevertheless he said at once, ““Havelok, 61

5

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your boon is granted.

THE

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Come and eat with me to-

day, you and your beautiful wife, whom you love as yourself. And have no fear for her, for no one shall put her to shame; I will go surety for that myself.”’ Havelok heard what he said, but he was afraid for his wife, for he would rather have died than

let her come to any harm. Ubbe spurred his horse and rode off, but before he was out of hearing he called, so that his people heard, “‘See that you both come. I wish it—and command it.”’

Although he was afraid Havelok did not dare to disobey, and he took his wife with him to the court. Robert the Red went with her, who would have

died to save her from insult or injury, and her other escort was Robert’s brother, William Wendut, a

man of courage in any hour of need. “Well is it with him who feeds a good man.” When they came into the hall Ubbe sprang up to receive them, and so did many a knight and peasant, to look at them and point them out, for Havelok

stood up like a hill above everyone there; he was a head taller than any of them. How happy Ubbe was, to see him so handsome and courteous! Ubbe’s heart went out to him and his wife, and it seemed

to him that there was no one in Denmark whom

Facing page 63

By courtesy of the British Museum

Servants fetching wine and drawing water (From a thirteenth-century manuscript)

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he could love so much. See the different ways in which God can help a man and his wife! When it was time to eat, Ubbe had his wife brought in and said to her, in jest, “Dame, you and Havelok shall eat together and Goldboro, who is as beautiful as a flower on a tree, shall eat with me. By St. John, no woman in Denmark is as lovely!”

When they had sat down and the table was laid and grace had been said, the finest food that any king or emperor could have was set before them: cranes,

swans,

venison,

salmon, lampreys,

good

sturgeon, spiced wine and good claré,! with plenty of white and red wine. In that place even the smallest page would never drink ale. I will not dwell on the food and wine; that is too long a story, it would weary this fair company.

But

when everything had been served and they had wassailed many

times, when they had sat long

over their good wine and it was time to go, everyone to his own place, Ubbe thought,

“Tf I let these four go all alone there will be trouble for this woman, as I hope to keep the use of finger and toe! Someone will kill her lord to get ber.’ 1 spiced wine.

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So he sent ten knights and sixty men, at least, with good swords and bows, to the house of the greave, who was named Bernard Brun, with orders that as he valued his life he was to keep

Havelok and Goldboro safe until the morning. Bernard was a trusty man and very brave. There was no man in the town who was better on a horse with his helmet on his head and his sword at his

side. He welcomed Havelok very warmly and had a very good supper got ready, so that they might feast to their hearts’ content, for there was nothing mean about him.

As soon as they had sat down to supper there came a serving-man in a loose jacket, with sixty strong men bearing drawn swords and long knives, who shouted, “Unbar the door, Greave Bernard!

Unbar it

quickly and let us in, or by St. Augustine you are a dead man!” Bernard, that big man, sprang up and donned a

coat of mail, he grasped a good axe and rushed to the door like a madman, crying, “Who are you, out there, making that din? Begone, you dirty thieves, for by the Lord men trust, if I open this door I will kill some of you!

And the rest of you I’ll put in chains!”’

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““What’s that?” cried a man, “Do you think we’re

afraid? We shall get through this door, you churl, in spite of you.” He seized a great stone and hurled it with such force that it smashed the door to pieces. Havelok sprang to the door-bar and pulled it out,

rough and heavy as it was, flung open the door and shouted, “Here I stand!

Come on! A curse on him who

runs away from you!” “You shall pay for that!’’ cried one. Sword in hand he made at Havelok, and with him came two more. Havelok lifted the door-bar

and with a single stroke he slew all three. brains lay open to the stars.

Their

A fourth he saluted

with the bar so well that the man’s right eye flew out of its socket, and then Havelok smote him on

the crown so that he fell stone-dead. The fifth got such a blow between the shoulders that he spent his heart’s blood. The sixth turned to flee, and the bar broke his foul neck in two. When the sixth had been felled the seventh drew his sword and thrust at Havelok’s eye, but Havelok let fly with the bar and smote him on the breast; he had no chance to get shriven, for he was dead in less time than it

takes to run a mile. Then the rest planned to sur-

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round him and beat him so that no leech should be able to heal him with any salve. They drew their swords and rushed at him as dogs rush at a baited bear when they mean to tear it to pieces. They all closed in upon him boldly and fiercely, they smote him with bars and stones, and thrust their swords

into his back and sides until he had more than twenty great wounds from head to foot. He was mad with anger. It was a marvel that he kept his feet, for the blood streamed down him, but then he showed them what he could do; he mowed them

down with his bar, he cracked the skull of every man he could reach, and in no time he felled twenty of them to the ground. What a din they made! They still attacked him fiercely but they kept their distance now, hurling flints and spears at him. Eager as they were to kill him they no more dared come near than if he were a boar or a lion. Hugh Raven heard that din, and thought that

they were attacking Havelok in order to take his wife. Hugh seized an oar and a long knife and ran like a deer. Then he saw how these mad fellows surrounded his lord and beat him as a smith beats an anvil with a hammer. ‘Alas!’ cried Hugh, “that ever I was born! That

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ever I ate bread! That I should see such sorrow! Robert! William! where are you? Arm yourselves with good bars of wood! Not one of these dogs shall escape until our lord is avenged. Come quickly and follow me! I have a good oar in my hand. A curse on him who does not strike hard!”’ “Yes, dear brother, yes!’ cried Robert.

“We

can see by the moonlight!” Robert grasped a staff strong enough to carry an ox, William Wendut seized a bar of wood much

thicker than his thigh, Bernard gripped his axe (I swear he was not the last) and they all rushed out as though they were mad. What wounds they gave those rogues! Havelok was well avenged. They broke their ribs, they broke their arms, knees, legs

and thighs, they cracked their heads, they beat their backs as soft as their bellies. They made them roar like children in the cradle, like children roaring for their mothers. A curse on anyone who pities them! What were they doing there? They deserved all they got. There were more than sixty of them and not one escaped alive.

VI

EXT morning there they lay in heaps, like Nee which had been hanged. Some had been thrown into dykes, others had been

dragged into ditches by the hair and left there. The news came quickly to Ubbe that Havelok, with a club, had killed sixty-one serving-men, the

best men living. “God!”’ cried Ubbe, “What is this? I must go myself to see what has happened, for if I send messengers they may do him harm and I would not have that happen for anything. I love him well, by the King of Heaven!” He leaped lightly on a horse, and with many a noble knight behind him he rode to Bernard Brun’s house in the town, and called to him.

Out

came Bernard, nearly as naked as he was born and covered with bruises. “Bernard, what has happened to you?” asked

Ubbe. “Who has treated you like this and left you nearly naked?” “Have mercy on me, my lord,” he answered. “Last night, as the moon rose, more than sixty 68

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thieves came here to rob me and to kill me and

mine. They broke down my door and meant to bind me hand and foot. When the good Havelok saw that, as he lay by the wall, he sprang up and drove them out, though they were as fierce as dogs from a mill. Havelok grasped the door-bar and killed three of them at a blow. He is the best man at need that shall ever ride a horse; God help me, I think he’s worth a thousand men! Had it not been for him I should be dead. But it is hard on him, for

they gave him three wounds the least of which would bring a horse to the ground. He has a great sword-wound in the side, another very bad one in the arm, and the worst wound ever seen in his thigh, besides more than twenty others. But when

he felt the pain of those wounds he fought as no boar ever fought. He smashed the hardest skull and spattered it to pieces. He hunted those thieves as a

dog hunts a hare, until everyone of them lay still as a stone, and he is not to blame, for if he had not killed them they would have cut him to pieces. My lord, I have only been roughly handled and the

thieves who meant to rob me have paid dearly for it, thank God, but Havelok is very sorely wounded. I think he will soon be a dead man.” “Bernard,” said Ubbe, “do you speak the truth?”

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“Yes, sire, I do not lie from my teeth. If-I speak one untrue word, my lord, hang me high tomorrow.” The townsfolk who stood by, high and low,

young and old, swore solemn oaths that Bernard spoke the truth: “Lord, they would have carried off all his goods and torn him to pieces, but God protected him so

that he lost nothing. What knight or man could stand against so many at dead of night? There were seventy of them, strong, stalwart men, and their

leader was called Griffin Galle.

Who could stand

against so many except this man from a foreign land who

slew them all with a bar of. wood?

Much joy to him!” “Bring him quickly,” said Ubbe, “so that I can see whether his wounds can be healed, for if he

recovers and can walk again I myself will dub him knight ‘for his bravery. And if those foul thieves, the kinsmen of Cain and Eve, were still alive, they

should hang by the neck. A curse on anyone who pities them, when they come like this at night to bind burgesses and knights. I have no love for outlaws who bind their victims. I do not care a sloe for them.” Havelok was brought to Ubbe, who grieved over

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his painful wounds, and feared for his life, but when his wounds were looked at, and a leech

declared that he could be cured completely, to speak and walk and ride as well as ever, then Ubbe forgot

all his grief and fear and said, “Come with me, and bring Goldboro your wife,

and your three servants. I will keep you safe. I do not want the friends of those you killed to lie in wait for you as you go to and fro. I will lend you a room in a high tower until you can walk again and are cured. There shall be nothing between your room and mine but a good wall of fir-wood, and whether I speak loudly or softly you will be able to hear all I say, and you shall see me whenever you wish. One roof shall cover us at night, so that no man of mine, cleric or knight, shall try to shame your wife, any more than mine, God help me!” So Havelok went to the bower, taking his wife and his three men, the best men in the world. In

the middle of the night Ubbe awoke and saw a great light, as bright as day, in the room where Havelok slept. “God!’’ thought Ubbe, “what is this? I had best

go myself to see whether they are sitting up wassailing or doing something foolish. If they are, they ought to be thrown into a dyke or into the fen.

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By Christ whom all men believe in, only gluttons or wicked thieves would be up now.” He got up and looked through a crack, without

saying a word. They were all lying fast asleep, and the great light was shining out of Havelok’s mouth. “God!” he thought, “what does this mean?” He called together his knights and retainers, more than a hundred of them, and bade them come and look

at this marvel. As they came from the hall to Havelok’s room a ray of light like a sunbeam shone from his mouth, so that the room was as bright as though a hundred wax-tapers were burning. They were all five sleeping like the dead. Havelok lay on his left side with his lovely bride in his arms and they were naked to the breasts. So handsome a pair never lay together in a bed. The knights thought it a great joke to look at them, and as Havelok lay ~ with his back turned they saw a splendid cross on his right shoulder, brighter than gold against the light, which all of them knew to be the birth-mark of a king. It sparkled and shone like a carbuncle; a man could tell one coin from another by its light. Then they looked at him closely, and they knew him

at last for the son of their good King Birkabeyn, who had led them so bravely against their foes. “There were never two brothers in all Denmark so

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much alike as Birkabeyn and this man,”’ they said,

“He must be Birkabeyn’s heir.’ They fell at his feet, weeping for joy, as though he had come back from the grave. They kissed his feet a hundred times, his toes and toe-nails and the

tips of his toes. He awoke and glowered at them, for he thought they meant to kill him or make him prisoner.

“My lord, do not be afraid. I see your thought,” said Ubbe. “Dear son, it is well for me that my eyes behold you.

I do you homage, my lord. It is

right that I should be your liegeman, for you are Birkabeyn’s heir. He had many a knight and servant, and so shall you have, young as you are. You shall be King of all Denmark, stronger than any before you. To-morrow all men in this town shall do you homage, earl, baron, dreng and thane,

knight and churl.

And I will gladly make you a

knight, for you are a brave man.”

Then Havelok was very happy and thanked God many times. Next morning, when the darkness of night had gone, Ubbe ordered a man to take horse and call together

earls, barons,

drengs,

thanes,

clerics, knights, townsfolk and peasants, on pain of their lives and their wives’ and children’s lives. No man dared to disobey him; they came at once to see

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what the magistrate wanted. said,

DANE

Then he rose and

“Listen to me, all of you, freemen and serfs.

I

will remind you of something you know well, that all this land was in Birkabeyn’s hands on the day he died and that by your advice he put his three children and all his goods into Godard’s care. You all heard Godard swear on the Book and the Mass-gear that he would care for them faithfully and well. He was altogether false to his oath. May he suffer for it forever!

He killed both the maidens with a knife,

and he would have killed the boy too, the knife was at his heart, but God had pity on him and saved him. That foul fiend did not kill the boy himself, he

made a fisherman swear to drown him in the raging sea. “When Grim saw that he was such a fine boy and knew that he was the rightful heir, he fled with

him from Denmark to England and took care of him for many a winter, so that he has always been

provided for. Look at him now!

There is no one

in the world to equal him, no one so handsome, so

tall and strong, no knight half so brave. Rejoice in him! Come and do homage to your lord. I will be the first to kneel to him.” He fell on his knees and swore to be Havelok’s

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After him ten serving-men

started up and swore to be his men, then every

baron in that town, every dreng, thane, knight and peasant; so that, before that day was done there

was no one in the whole town who had not paid homage to Havelok. Then he made them solemnly swear that they would be faithful to him against any man alive, and all of them, rich and poor, willing or not,

soon took that oath. Then Ubbe sent writs far and wide to all governors of castles, boroughs and towns, kinsmen or strangers, summoning them to come quickly and hear good news. Not one of them tarried; they came post-haste, on horse or on foot, and within a fortnight there was no knight, constable, or sheriff, born of Adam and Eve, who had not come before Sir Ubbe, for they feared

him as a thief fears the law. When they had greeted the King and had taken their places, Ubbe said,

“Behold our most dear lord! He is to be King of all this land, he is to rule us all, for he is the son of Birkabeyn, our king that was, who defended us

well with his sharp sword and long spear. This is his heir. Fall at his feet, all of you, and swear to be

his men.”’

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They all went in fear of Ubbe, so they did what he bade them, and something more:

solemnly Havelok When willingly

they swore

on the Book that they would stand by against all his foes, secret or open. they had all paid homage and sworn, or not, Ubbe dubbed him knight with

the brightest of swords, gave all the people and all the land of Denmark into his care, and nobly made

him King. Then the people enjoyed all the greatest pleasures in life: thrusting with sharp spears, fighting with sword and buckler, wrestling, putting the stone, harping and playing on the pipes, playing at backgammon and dice, and reading romances from books; then men could hear gests! sung and gleemen striking on the tabor; bulls and bears were baited by fierce hounds,

with more

and more

noise and fury; there was never yet more happiness in the world than there was then in Havelok’s kingdom. There were so many gifts of garments that I could not make them seem more than they were; that I can swear in the name of God.

There

was the best of food and wine, brought from far away, and as plentiful as water in the sea. The feast lasted for forty days; there has never been 1 ballads of adventure.

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another so rich. Robert, that stalwart man, William Wendut his brother, and Hugh Raven were there made knights by the King, and then he made all three of them barons, and gave them lands

and goods so rich that always, day and night, each of them maintained a retinue of twenty knights. When at last the feast was over, King Havelok kept with him a thousand well-armed knights, each of them with a good mount, helmet, shield and bright coat of mail, and all the weapons a knight should have. He kept also five thousand good men who were spoiling for a fight. I will not make a long story of it. When all the castles in the country were in his hands, and he had put wardens in charge of them, he swore that he would

never rest until he was revenged on that Godard of whom I have often told you. Havelok called together half a hundred of his fighting men, and made them swear by Book and Altar that they would never rest, for love or sin, till they had found

Godard and brought him bound before their King.

Then they set off as fast as they could to the lands where Godard, that proud man, still went

Robert was hunting with a great company. leader of the army, he wore a sword and rode a 6

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fine horse which would carry him at a furious gallop, and it was Robert who first spoke to Godard. “Hey, fellow,” he cried, “Listen to me!

What

are you doing here? You must come to the King | at once. He commands you to come, and to remember how you slew his sisters with a knife and gave orders for him to be drowned in the sea. He is full of anger. You are to come to him at once, you foul and wicked traitor, and by Christ who gave His blood for us on the cross, the King will give you your reward!” At that Godard dealt Robert a heavy blow in the teeth with his fist. Robert drew a long knife and stabbed him through the right arm.—There’s no need to be sorry for him! When Godard’s men saw this they would have killed Robert but for his brothers and five more. They slew ten of Godard’s best men, and the others fled. Then Godard shouted loudly, “What are you doing? Will you desert me like this? I have fed you, and will go on feeding you. Help me now. Do not leave me to be killed or for Havelok to do what he likes with me. If you do you put yourselves to shame.” At that his men turned back and killed a knight

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and a peasant of the King’s army, and wounded ten more, but then the whole army rushed upon

them, and slew every man of them except Godard himself. Him they flayed later, like a thief that is hanged or a dog that is thrown into a ditch. They bound him now, as tightly as they could, as tightly as the cords would stretch, till he roared like a bull trapped in a hole with dogs baiting him. They bound him so sorely that he cried to them, by God’s mercy, not to cut off his hand, but they would

not stop. A curse on the man who would!

They

bound him hand and foot, they beat him like a bear,

they threw him on to a scabby mare with his nose at the mare’s tail. And so they brought that foul traitor to Havelok, on whom he had brought so

much suffering, cold and hunger and wretchedness before the boy was twelve years old, in spite of all the oaths he had sworn. Now he had his reward. “Old sin makes new shame.”’ When he was brought so shamefully before the King, that foul traitor, the King made Ubbe call

together at once all his earls and barons, every dreng and thane, knight and citizen, and ordered them to

give the prisoner a fair trial, for the King knew that treacherous fellow again—How angry God was with him!

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They took their places by the wall, rich and poor, high and low, old men and boys. They gave the prisoner a fair trial, and then they said to the King, who sat there still as a stone, “Our judgement is that he shall be flayed alive,

and then dragged to the gallows at this wretched mare’s tail, with a strong nail through his feet, and there he shall be hanged in two chains, and

there shall be written on the gallows: “This is the traitor who sought to take the country from the King and who took the lives of both his sisters with a knife.’ We have passed sentence. We have no more to say.’ When the sentence had been passed and Godard had been shriven by a priest there was nothing for it but that he should lose his life. A man came with a knife and began to flay him from the toes upward, slashing off his skin as though it were a garment. The foul fiend roared loud enough to be heard a mile away, and cried “Mercy, mercy!’’ but the man would not stop until he had flayed every inch of him, with a knife made of ground steel. Then that scabby raw-boned mare was brought, and Godard was tied at her tail with an old sail-rope and dragged through the north gate, over the ploughed fields, to the gallows. There he was

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hanged by the neck. A curse on anyone who pities him! He was false. When that devil was dead the King gave all his possessions to Ubbe, with a handsome staff, and

said, “Here I give you seizin of all these lands and fees

vil S O Havelok became a mighty King, and after

he had reigned four years and made himself

very rich, Goldboro bade him go over into England to conquer her inheritance, from which her uncle had cast her out and so wickedly disinherited her. The King said he would do as she commanded. He got ready his fleet, gathered his hosts, and put to sea when the wind served, taking

the Queen with him. Four score and four hundred ships had Havelok, full of men.

He steered and sailed so far that he came to Carleflure. They camped beside the harbour there and sought food in the country round about. ]! Then Havelok swore that for Grim’s sake he

would found a priory? of black? monks to serve

* There is a gap in the story here, a column or a page having been omitted by a copyist. The passage in brackets has been

taken from Le Lai d’ Havelok, a twelfth-century, Anglo-French

version. * possibly Grimsby Abbey is intended. It was dedicated to St. Olaf. 3 black-robed Austin Canons. 82

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Jesus Christ until Doomsday in memory of Grim’s kindness to him when he was poor and miserable, and this he founded in the town where Grim was buried, which still bears his name. I will say no more about Grim. That foul traitor, that filthy churl, Godrich,

Earl of Cornwall, heard that Havelok was King of Denmark and had landed in England with a great army to win all the country, and that Goldboro,

the lovely lady who was the rightful Queen of England, had arrived at Grimsby.

Then Godrich

was sad and sorry. “What shall I do?” he thought. “T must have them both killed, God knows. Uniess he flees from my land, I will have them hanged—as I hope to keep my right eye! Does he think he can disinherit me?” Godrich soon called out his army. Every man who could ride a horse, or wear a helmet and a coat

of mail and carry a shield and a spear or any other

weapon, hand-axe, scythe, halberd, short dagger or

good long knife—every man who valued his life

and limb must come to Godrich, where he lay at ‘Lincoln, on the seventeenth day of March. All who came would earn his thanks. Anyone who was too proud to come, he swore by Christ and St. John, should be made a slave, with all his children after him.

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None of the Englishmen dared to disobey him, for they feared him as a nag fears the spur, and much more. They came on the day named, well

armed and mounted as knights should be. The Earl was very soon ready to march against the Danes, and he said,

“Now listen, all of you. I have not brought you together for sport, and I will tell you why. Invaders have landed at Grimsby and have taken the priory, with all that they can find. They burn churches and bind priests, they strangle monks and nuns. What do you think of this, my friends? If they go on like this for long they may overcome us all—hang us up alive, make us their slaves, or

kill us and our wives and children. Now you must do all that Icommand you, help both me and yourselves, and smite these dogs at once.

For I shall

never be happy again, or receive the sacrament or be shriven by a priest, until they are driven from the land. Let us go quickly to drive them out and

follow me closely, all of you, for in the whole of

the army I will be the first man to kill with my drawn sword. A curse on him who does not stand firm by me while his weapons last!”’ 1 This was a Danish habit.

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“Yes, sire, yes!” cried Earl Gunter. ‘“‘Yes!”’ cried Reyner, Earl of Chester. So did all who

stood there, and they started forward as though mad to fight. They threw on their coats of mail and pulled them straight, and set their helmets high on

their heads. They were ready in the time it takes to count a pound; then they sprang on to their horses and rode stealthily on their way until they came near Grimsby. Havelok had sent to get news of their march. He came to meet them with his whole army, sparing neither knight nor peasant. The first knight whom he met he greeted by striking off his head. No sin

Ill. A battle scene; knights in armour (from a thirteenth century manuscript of Lives of the Offas.)

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could stop him. Robert saw that lovely blow and would not move until he had killed another. William Wendut slew the third, whose left arm went

flying with his shield. Neither did Hugh Raven forget to use his sword. He smote an earl who was spurring his horse to a gallop, and cleft the earl’s head in two; the keen blade swept down through the shoulder to the heart and the earl fell dead as a

stone. “T have waited too long,” cried Ubbe, and taking

another knight’s spear he rode with it against Godrich. So fiercely and grimly they smote each other that they were both thrown headlong to the ground. Eagerly then they drew their sharp swords and fought like madmen. The sweat ran down them; they rained great blows upon each other. All day long they fought without a pause until the sun began to set, and then Godrich gave Ubbe such a

wound in the side that it would have been the end of him, and his head would have been cut off, if he

had not been saved by God and by Hugh Raven, who dragged him away from Godrich. But before that a thousand knights and more had been killed on both sides. There was such slaughter that blood filled every puddle in that field and flowed down into the hollow.

HAVELOK

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Then Godrich began to gain upon the Danes and slay them fast. He fell upon them like a lion which spares no beast it meets, so that they gave way before him and he killed everyone, dark or fair, that

he could overtake. Neither knight nor man could face his blows. They went down like grass before a sharp scythe. But when Havelok saw them giving way he came galloping up on his horse and shouted,

“‘Godrich, what is wrong with you that you slay my good knights like this? You are acting wickedly. Remember how Athelwold made you kneel and swear on the mass-book, the chalice and

the patten that when his daughter came of age you would put all England into her hands. Earl Godrich,

you know that well. Give up the land to her peacefully now, as is right. Then I will forgive the wrong you have done, and the deaths of my men, because

you are so brave a knight of your body.” “That I will never do,’’ answered Earl Godrich,

“for I will slay you and hang Goldboro high. I will thrust out your right eye unless you turn and run.” Then he snatched his sword from its sheath, and

cleft Havelok’s shield in two. Disgraced like that in the sight of all his army, Havelok whipped out his good sword and dealt Godrich such a blow upon

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the helmet that it felled him to the earth, but he

started up at once and smote Havelok on the shoulder. That stroke stripped more rings from Havelok’s

coat of mail than I can

count,

and

wounded his tender flesh so that his blood ran down to his feet. How ashamed and angry Havelok was then! Fiercely he heaved up his sword and cut off the hand which had wounded him, and what greater shame could he do his foe? Then Havelok took him by the throat like a traitor—a curse on the man who pities him!—and sent him fettered with good steel fetters, to the Queen, bidding her guard

him well because he was a knight and must not be beaten or disgraced before knights had judged him. When the English saw that, they all believed that

the beautiful Goldboro was the rightful Queen of

England and that the King had wedded taken her to bed. With one voice they ask mercy of the King. They did homage and swore that never again would they

her and came to to him take up

arms against him, for weal or woe.

The King did not refuse their homage, but first he sent for the Queen, to see if they knew her, so that he could tell whether she ought to be Queen. Six earls set out at once and soon they brought her

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89

back who had no equal in courtesy under the moon. When she came all the Englishmen fell upon their knees, and wept bitterly, and cried,

“Lady, by Christ’s grace and yours, we have sinned greatly in being disloyal to you, for England should be yours and we should be your men. Not one of us, young or old, but knows that Athelwold

was king of all this kingdom and that you are his heiress. This traitor has held it wrongfully. God grant that he may soon hang high!”’ “Since you know this to be so,” said Havelok,

“sit down and pass a fair judgement upon Godrich for what he has done. He has brought himself to grief, and justice spares neither cleric nor knight. Afterwards I will accept your homage, according to the law of the land, and accept your oaths too, if

you agree.” They took their places at once, for no one dared

to defy Havelok, and their sentence was that Godrich should be lashed to the back of a wretched ass, with his nose to its tail, and that he should be

led to Lincoln in this shameful fashion. When he came to the town he should be led through it to a green on the south side—which is still there, I think—and there should be bound to a stake, with

a great fire laid about him, and then he should be

gO

HAVELOK

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burned to ashes. And as a warning to other traitors his children should lose their heritage for ever,

because of his evil-doing. When this sentence had been given the traitor was soon laid on the ass and taken to that same green and burned to ashes. Then Goldboro was overjoyed. She thanked God many a time that the foul traitor who tried to ruin her had been burned. “Now is the time,” she said, ‘“‘to receive homage from all.

Now I am avenged on my foe.” Then Havelok made all the English pay him homage and swear great oaths that they would keep faith with him against any alive. When he had

taken sureties as he wished from high and low, he summoned the Earl of Chester, who was a young bachelor, and all his men, and he said,

“Sir Earl, on my life, if you will follow my counsel I will do well by you, for I will give you to

wife the finest woman alive, Gunnild of Grimsby,

Grim’s daughter, by St. David. It was he who brought me from Denmark to save me from death, and it is certainly owing to his wisdom that I am still alive. Blessed be his soul for ever! I advise

you to wed her and to treat her courteously, for she is lovely, and generous and most gracious. She

stands high in my favour, as I will show you, for I

HAVELOK

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OI

promise you that as long as I live you shall be dear to me because of her, and I wish all these people to hear this.”

The Earl would not go against the King; he wedded her that same day. And never came two

together in bed, clothed or naked, who lived as they did all their lives. They got five sons who were the best men that could ride a horse in the hour of need.

The good Havelok did not forget Bertram, the Earl’s cook, but sent for him too and said, “Now, my friend, you shall have a rich reward

for the kindness that you did me in my great need. For when I had nothing to wear but a cloak, and

neither bread nor anything else to eat, you fed me

and clothed me well. Now you shall have the earldom of Cornwall as your reward and all the

land that Godrich held in town and country, and I wish you to marry Grim’s daughter, the beautiful Levive. Provide for her well and treat her courteously, for she is as fair as a flower on a tree. The colour in her cheeks is the colour of a rose when it first opens to the light and warmth of the sun.”

Then he girded Bertram with the sword of the

earldom, in the sight of his army, dubbed him knight with his own hand, gave him arms, as was

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fitting, and soon wed him to this lady who was so sweet in bed. After the wedding the Earl would ~ not linger there but went to take possession of his lands, where he lived a good life with his wife for a hundred winters. They got many children and lived happily always. When both these maidens were wed, Havelok enriched all his Danes with lands and goods, for he

was generous, not mean.

Then he marched to

London with his army, so that English and Danes,

high and low, could see how proudly he wore the crown before his many barons. At this crowning the feast lasted with great joy for forty days or more, after which the Danes began asking the King’s leave to depart.

He would not grieve them, for he saw

that they were eager to go back to Denmark, so he gave them leave and commended them to the care of St. John. He bade Ubbe govern and guard Denmark so well that no complaint would be made to him. After they had all gone, Havelok lived joyfully and merrily in England. He and Goldboro ruled there for sixty winters, and there was so much

love between these two that all the world spoke of them. They could never be parted; they had no joy inlife unless they were together, and they were

By courtesy of the British Museum

A banquet

‘acing page 92

By courtesy of the British Museum

Men fishing from a small boat (Both illustrations from Queen Mary’s Psalter, early fourteenth century)

HAVELOK THE DANE

93

never angry, for their love was always new; never

a word passed between them which could give rise to wrath. They got fifteen sons and daughters, all of whom, by God’s will, were kings and queens. “Tt is well with him who begets a good child.” Now you have heard the tale of Havelok and

Goldboro—how they were born and how they were bred, how they met with treachery and evil

in their youth, how the traitors sought to rob them of their rights, and how they were well revenged.

I have told you everything about them. So now I beseech all of you who have heard this rhyme to say a Paternoster for him who made the rhyme, and forwent many a night’s sleep to make

it: that at his life’s end Jesus Christ may bring his soul before God the Father. Amen.

SIR

ORFEO

Fa

4a

f

YE

th

mw

te

a

eecet mene

ake

age

=

nas

Facing page 97

By courtesy of the National Library of Scotland

The beginning of “Sir Orfeo” in the fourteenth-century Auchinleck MS.

SIR

ORFEO

HE lays which minstrels sing to their harps are full of good things. Some of them sing of happiness and some of sorrow, some of

joy and mirth, others of treachery and guile, jests or ribaldry, and some of fairyland.

But above all

they sing of love. These lays were first sung in Brittany, for when

Bretons heard of daring deeds or great events they took up their harps gaily and made new songs. I do not know them all, but if you will listen, my

lords, I will sing you the lay of Sir Orfeo. Orfeo was a king, a very noble English lord, bold and valiant, generous and courteous too. His

father was descended from King Pluto and his

mother from King Juno, who were once believed to be gods because of the things which they did. Orfeo took more

pleasure in harping than in

1 Pluto, Greek god of the underworld of the dead, had come

to be regarded as King of the Fairies. Juno, a Roman goddess, was the consort of Jupiter, the chief of the gods, not a King! 97

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SIR ORFEO

anything else, and always did honour to a good minstrel.

He loved to play the harp himself; he

gave his keen mind to it and learned to play so well that there was not a better harper in the world. Any

man who heard Orfeo play would think himself in paradise, there was such melody in that harping.

This King lived in Thrace, a city with noble defences, which was no doubt the city now called Winchester. He had a good Queen, Dame Heurodis, the most beautiful lady alive, who was full of

love and goodness. No man can say how beautiful

she was. Now early in the month of May, when the days are warm and happy, wintry showers are over, and every field is full of flowers and every branch is glorious with blossom, this Queen, Dame Heurodis,

with two noble maidens, went one morning to

enjoy herself beside an orchard, to look at the

flowers and listen to the birds singing.

They all three sat down under a fair orchard-tree,

and very soon the Queen fell asleep on the green grass. The maidens dared not wake her; they let

her lie and take her rest, so she slept into the afternoon. But when she awoke she cried and screamed,

1 Thrace, a part of Greece, was certainly not Winchester!

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99

she tore at her hands and her feet, she clawed her face until it streamed with blood, and tore her rich dress to shreds; she was out of her mind. The two

maidens dared not stay with her. They ran to the palace and bade the knights and squires to come and restrain her. The knights and ladies, sixty maidens and more, ran to the Queen in the orchard, and they took her up in their arms and carried her to her bed. They held her fast, but still she screamed and

struggled to break free. When Orfeo heard this news he was more miserable than ever in his life before. He came with ten knights to the Queen’s chamber, and looked at her,

and then, full of pity, he said, “My dear life, what ails you, who have always

been so quiet and now cry out so shrilly? Your lovely white body is torn by your nails. Your

beautiful face, which was full of colour, is as pale

as if you were dead. Your little fingers are bloodstained and white.

Your lovely eyes are like the

eyes of a man glaring at his foe. Oh, my lady, I beg you, cease this pitiful crying and tell me what ails

you, and how it came about, and what can be done to help you now.” Then she lay still at last and began to weep

bitterly, and she said to the King,

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“Alas, my lord, Sir Orfeo, since we first came

together there has never once been any discord between us; I have always loved you as my life, and so have you loved me. But now we must part. You must do the best you can, for I must leave

you.” “Alas!” he said, “Where are you going, and to whom? Wherever you go I will go with you, and wherever I go you shall come with me.” “No, no, sir! That cannot be. I will tell you everything. As I lay asleep beside the orchard at noon there came to me two fair knights, armed point-device,! who bade me come in haste to speak

with their King. I answered boldly that I dared not and would not go. They galloped away as fast as they could, and then their King appeared, with a hundred knights and more, and a hundred damsels,

all mounted on snow-white steeds and wearing clothes as white as milk. Never before have I seen such noble beings. The King wore a crown which was not made of silver or red gold; it was a precious stone which shone like the sun. He seized me and compelled me, against my will, to ride beside him

on a palfrey to his palace. It was furnished nobly in * completely and correctly.

SIR

ORFEO

IOI

every way, and he showed me castles and towers, rivers, forests, parks full of flowers, and all his

splendid horses. Then he brought me back to our orchard, and he said, ‘See to it, lady, that tomorrow you are here under this orchard-tree, for

then you are to go with us and live with us for ever. If you resist you will be found and brought to me, no matter where you are, and even if we have to

tear you limb from limb we shall carry you off.” When King Orfeo heard this he cried, “Alas, alas,

I would rather lose my life than lose the Queen, my wife, like this.”

He asked counsel from them

all but no one could help him. At noon next day Orfeo seized his weapons and with fully a thousand knights, all of them strongly armed, he escorted the queen to the orchard-tree. There, drawn up in ranks around her, they swore

that they would hold their ground and die to the last man before the Queen should be taken away. And yet the Queen was taken from their midst by magic, and no one knew what had become of her. Then there was crying, weeping and grief. The King went to his chamber, and there he lay swooning and lamenting on the stone floor until he was

near to death, but nothing was of any use.

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SIR

ORFEO

He called for his barons, earls and famous lords

and when they had all gathered he said, “My lords, here before you all I appoint my high steward to be regent of my kingdom. He shall stand in my place, to guard my lands everywhere. For now that I have lost my Queen, the fairest

lady that was ever born, I will never look upon a woman again; I shall go into the wilderness, to live with wild beasts in the grey woods. When you know that I am dead, then call a parliament and

choose a new king. Now do the best that you can with all my affairs.” Then there was weeping and a great outcry in

the hall. Hardly anyone, young or old, could speak

a word; they all kneeled down and begged him not to leave them. “Say no more!” he said, “It shall be so.” He forsook his kingdom. He put on a pilgrim’s

mantle, without kirtle! or hood, he took nothing but his harp, and he went barefoot out of the gate.

He allowed no one to go with him.

What weeping and grief there was, when he

who had been a crowned king left them in that humble dress! Through wood and heath he went * an undergarment reaching to the knees.

SIR

ORFEO

103

out into the wilderness, and there was nothing but hardship in the life he lived. He who had worn vair! and grey fur, and had fine purple linen on his bed, now lay on the hard ground, covering

himself with leaves and grass. He who had owned castles and towers, rivers, forests and flowering parklands, had now to make his bed of moss, even

in frost and snow. He who had had noble knights and ladies kneeling before him now saw only snakes gliding by. He who had had plenty of food and drink, and every delicacy, had now to dig and

grub in the earth all day before he found his fill of roots. In summer he lived on wild fruit and berries that were poor food indeed: in winter he

could find nothing but roots, grasses and the bark of trees. His whole body was scarred and wasted away by hardship.

Lord, who can tell how this

King suffered for ten years or more?

His rough,

black beard grew down to his waist. His harp, his

only joy, he hid in a hollow tree, but when the

weather was clear and bright he took it out and The music played on it to his heart’s content.

sounded through the wood until all the wild beasts 1 ‘fur made of alternate pieces of the grey back and white belly of the squirrel. Grey fur is the grey back alone.”"— Kenneth Sisam.

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SIR ORFEO

drew near in delight and all the birds perched on the briars around him to listen to his harping, the

melody was so sweet. But when he stopped no creature would stay with him. Often in the heat of noon Orfeo saw the King of Fairyland and all his company come to hunt, with thin cries, with blowing of horns and baying of

hounds, but they caught nothing and Orfeo never knew what became of them. At other times a great host would sweep by him, a thousand knights armed point-device, looking fierce and proud, with their swords drawn and their banners unfurled, but

he never knew where they went. Sometimes he saw knights and ladies in elegant attire, dancing with light and skilful steps while tabours! and trumpets went beside them, and all manner of minstrelsy.

Then one day sixty ladies came riding by as gay and graceful as birds on a leafy spray, and not one man with them. They rode hawking by a river, for they all carried falcons on their hands. There were plenty of game-birds—mallards,? herons and. cormorants.

The water-fowl rose, the falcons descried

1 small drums. 2 wild ducks.

SIR

ORFEO

IOS

them and every one brought down his prey. When Orfeo saw that he laughed. “On my word,” he said, “that is good sport! I will go to them in God’s name,

for I was once well used to seeing such

things.” As he drew near he saw that one of the ladies was his own Queen, Dame Heurodis.

Longingly they gazed at each other, but neither spoke a word. When she saw him in that plight, who had been so rich and noble, the tears fell from her eyes, but the other ladies forced her to ride

away. “Alas,” he cried, ““why does not death take me

now? I have lived too long when I dare not speak a word to my wife and she dare not speak to me. But come what may I will ride after these ladies. I do not care whether I live or die.” At that he put on his pilgrim’s mantle, and hung his harp upon

his back, and went eagerly on his way. He stopped for nothing. When the ladies rode into a rock he followed them at once.

‘

Three miles or more he travelled through the rock until he came into a fair country, bright as a summer’s day, and green and flat; there was not a hill or valley to be seen. In the midst of it stood a

magnificent royal castle. Its outer wall shone like crystal, a hundred battlemented towers surrounded

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SIR ORFEO

it, and the buttresses which rose from its moat were bright with red gold. The vaulting was adorned with carvings of every kind of animal in the world, the wide halls within were all of precious stones, and the meanest pillar was made of bur-

nished gold. In that country it was always light, for at night the rich stones shone as brightly as the sun at noon. No man can imagine how splendid the castle was. Orfeo thought that it was the glorious court of Paradise. The ladies entered this castle, and he wished to follow them, so when he reached the gate he knocked. The porter asked him what he wanted. “On my word,” said Sir Orfeo, “I am a minstrel,

as you see.

I will entertain your Lord with my

music, if he be willing to listen.”’

The porter opened the gate at once and let him into the castle, and Orfeo began to look about him.

He saw in the courtyard many folk who are believed to be dead, but have not died. Some stood there without their heads, some had no arms, or were

wounded through the body, and some were madmen, lying in bonds. Others were fully armed and mounted on horseback. Some had been strangled as they were eating, or drowned in water, or burned with fire. Women lay there in childbed,

SIR ORFEO

107

dead or raving. Others slept as though they were taking a noonday rest. All were just as they had been when the fairies took them out of this world. And there Sir Orfeo saw his wife, Dame Heurodis,

who was as dear to him as his own life, sleeping under an orchard-tree; he knew her by her clothes. When he had seen all these marvels he went into the King’s hall. There stood a glorious throne, under a canopy, and the King and Queen were

seated there, wearing crowns and robes which shone so brightly that he could hardly bear to look at them.

He knelt before the throne and said,

“My lord, if you will you shall hear my minstrelsy.”” ““Who are you?” asked the King. “Neither I nor anyone about me sent for you. Since I began to reign here I have never seen any other man foolhardy enough to journey hither unless he was sent for.” “My lord,” said Sir Orfeo, “I am only a poor minstrel, and, sir, it is the custom among us to visit

many a lord’s house. Even if we are not welcome we must offer to make music.” Sitting down before the King he took his merrysounding harp and tuned it skilfully, and then he

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SIR ORFEO

struck from it notes so blissful that all who were in the palace came to hear him and lay down at his feet, they thought his melody so sweet. The King sat very still, for both he and his noble Queen

took great joy in Orfeo’s harping. When it came to an end the King said to him,

“Minstrel, your playing pleases me greatly. Ask of me whatever you wish and I will give it to you.” “Sir,’’ answered Orfeo, “I beseech you to give me the lady with the beautiful face who is sleeping under the orchard-tree.”’ “No,”

said

the King,

“That

is impossible.

What an ill-matched pair you would be! You are so gaunt, black and unkempt, while she is lovely,

without a blemish. It would be a horrible thing to see her in your company.” “Oh sir,” he cried, “noble King, it would be

more horrible still to hear a lie from your lips. You said that I should have anything I asked. You must keep your word.” _ The King answered, “‘Since it must be so, take her by the hand and go. I wish you joy of her.” Then Sir Orfeo knelt and thanked him exceedingly. He took his wife by the hand and went quickly from that country, returning by the way he had come.

SIR ORFEO

109

He travelled on until he came to Winchester, his

own city, but he dared not go beyond the town’s end, for fear of being known, so he found a poor

lodging there, with a beggar, for himself and his wife, as though he were a minstrel of low degree; and he asked what was the news of that country,

and who was the ruler of it. The poor beggar told him everything: how the Queen had been stolen away by the fairies ten years ago, how the King had gone into exile, no man knew where; and how the steward ruled the land. And many other things

the beggar told him. The next day, towards noon, he borrowed the

beggar’s clothes, hung his harp on his back and, bidding his wife stay in the cottage, he went into the city, so that he could be seen. Earls and bold barons, burgesses and ladies, looked at him and said, “What a man! His hair is so long and his beard. reaches to his knees! And he is as withered as a dead tree!”

Walking along the street he met his steward and called to him loudly, “Sir Steward, take pity on me! Iam a harper from oan lands. Help me in

my need!’’ The steward answered, ““Come with me.

shall share what I have.

You

Every good harper is 8

IIo

SIR

ORFEO

welcome to me, for the love of my lord Sir Orfeo.” In the castle the steward sat at table, with many lords beside him, while trumpeters and tabour-

players, harpers and fiddlers made great music. Sir Orfeo sat quiet in the hall and listened.

When

they were all silent he took his harp and tuned it loudly, and then he played there the most joyful melody that ever man heard. They were all enchanted by his harping. The Steward knew the harp at once. “‘Minstrel!’’ he said, “‘as you hope to thrive, where and how did you get that harp? I pray you, tell me at once.” “My lord,” he answered, “I was travelling

through a wilderness in a strange country when I found, in a dale, a man who had been torn to pieces by lions and wolves, and beside his body I found

this harp. It was a full ten years ago.” “Oh,” cried the Steward, ‘“‘alas! That was my lord Sir Orfeo! Unhappy wretch that I am, what

shall I do now that I have lost so good a lord? Alas, that I was ever born! that so hard a lot was ordained for him and he was marked out for so vile a death!’’

He fell swooning to the ground, but his baron

SIR

ORFEO

IIl

lifted him up and told him that in the course of nature there is no remedy for death.

Then King Orfeo was certain that his steward was a true man, who loved his King as he ought to do, so Orfeo stood up and cried, “Now, steward, listen to this! If I were King

Orfeo, and had long suffered greatly in the wilderness, and had won my Queen back from the realm

of the fairies and had come here in this humble

disguise to test you, and had found you true, you should never regret it. In any case you should certainly be king after me. But if you had been glad to hear that Iwas dead you would have been quickly dismissed from your office.” Then all those gathered there saw that it was King Orfeo, and the Steward knew him well. He

overturned the table and threw himself at the

King’s feet. All the lords did the same, and they all cried, “You are our lord, sire, and our king!”’

They were overjoyed to see him alive; they took him at once to a chamber, bathed him and shaved his beard, and robed him like a king, for all to see.

Then they brought the Queen into the town in a

great procession, with all manner of minstrelsy. Lord, there was great music-making! They wept

Ii2

SIR

ORFEO

for joy to see the King and Queen return unharmed. Now King Orfeo was crowned afresh, with his

Queen Heurodis.

They lived for many years, and

then the Steward was made king. Afterwards

minstrels

in Brittany

heard

this

marvellous tale, and made it into a pleasant lay to

which they gave the King’s name, Sir Orfeo. Good is the lay, and sweet its melody. Thus Sir Orfeo came out of his sorrow. grant us all to fare as well.

God

Appendix

ORPHEUS

AND

EURYDICE

THE CONSOLATIONS

OF BOETHIUS

For hundreds of years this work of philosophy was the most widely read in Europe. It was written in Latin early in the sixth century A.D. by a great thinker, Anicius Manlius Severinus Boethius, while he was in prison. There are many English translations, including one by Geoffrey Chaucer and another by Queen Elizabeth I.

Appendix ORPHEUS

AND

EURYDICE

Alfred the Great

HE ancient Greek myth of Orpheus and Eurydice has been told and retoldin many different versions. That which follows is apparently the oldest English version and it is taken from the free translation of The Consolations of Philosophy which was made by King Alfred the Great towards the end of the ninth century A.D. Alfred’s Old English is a foreign language to us. The following passage has been freely rendered into modern English. There was once a harp-player who lived in the country

called Thrace,

in the kingdom

of the

Greeks. No one had ever heard another harp player who was so good. His name was Orpheus and he had a wonderfully good wife who was named Eurydice. Men began to say of him that

when he played the harp the forest would move and 115

116

Appendix: ORPHEUS

AND

EURYDICE

rocks would quiver at the sound; wild beasts would

run to him and stand as though they were tame, so that they would not flee when men and hounds came near them. Then the harper’s wife died, men say, and her

soul was taken to hell.t Then the harp-player became so sorrowful that he could not live among other men. He went into the forest and sat day and night upon the hills, weeping and harping, so that the forest shook and the rivers stood still, the hart no longer shunned the lion, nor the hare the hound, nor did any creature hate or fear any other, because

they took such pleasure in that music. And when the harper found that nothing in this world could — bring him any happiness, he thought to seek out the gods of hell, to charm them with his harp and pray them to give him back his wife. When he came thither, men say, there met him the hound of hell, named Cerberus, who had three heads, but as soon as he heard that harping he began

to wag his tail and to fawn on Orpheus. There too was a most terrible gate-keeper, Charon, who also had three heads, and was very old. The harper 1 Hades, the dreary underworld inhabited by the spirits of the dead, ruled by the god Pluto and his queen, Persephone.

Appendix:

ORPHEUS

AND

EURYDICE

ET7

begged Charon to protect him while he was in that place and bring him back unharmed, which Charon

promised to do, being overjoyed by that rare music. Then Orpheus went on until he met the fierce

goddesses whom the common people call Parcae, who are said to respect no man, but to punish every

man according to his deeds and to decide every man’s fate. Orpheus implored their pity, and they fell to weeping with him. Then he went on, and all the dwellers in hell ran to meet him; they led

him to their King and they joined in his petition. . . . All the dwellers in hell had rest from their tortures

while Orpheus played upon his harp before their King.

Now when Orpheus had harped for a long, long time the King of the dwellers in hell cried out, “Let us give the man his wife, for he has earned her by

his harping.”” Then he bade Orpheus never to look back on his way out, and said that if he looked

back he should lose his wife. But how hard it is— or impossible—to restrain love! Woe and alas! Orpheus led the way, with his wife behind him,

until he reached the border between light and darkness, but when he stepped into the light he looked back at her, and instantly she was lost to him.

118

Appendix: ORPHEUS

AND

EURYDICE

This fable teaches every man who desires to flee from the darkness of hell to the light of true goodness that he must not look back at his old sins, to indulge in them as fully as he did before. For whoever turns his whole mind back to the sins he has forsaken and takes full pleasure in them again and never again thinks of forsaking them, that man shall lose all his former goodness, unless he repent again.

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The Holy Grail From Sir Thomas Malory’s Morte d’Arthur and other sources; arranged by B. KENNEDY COOKE Some of the world’s greatest stories of chivalry: stories of jousting knights, tournaments, deeds of valour, adventure and ladies in distress. King Arthur and Sir Lancelot deal with two main characters in the Round Table legends and The Holy Grail tells of a great and mysterious quest undertaken by many gallant knights of King Arthur’s court. These three books are presented for the modern reader, using as far as possible Malory’s own words and yet telling each story as a continuous

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Stories from Froissart’s Chronicles, edited and with an Introduction by JOHN HAMPDEN Some of the best of Froissart’s stories which provide a fascinating record of life in the fourteenth century. Froissart wrote, in a vivid and exciting style, about many historic events which he’ himself witnessed or heard of from eye-witnesses. Here are battles, tournaments, sieges, festivals and knightly deeds; stories of courage and adventure, mercy and treachery — the age of chivalry displayed. ILLUSTRATED WITH REPRODUCTIONS FROM

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